Mission: Future
by crazywords
Summary: Alex Rider knew that it was a bad idea, he knew that the future should stay in the future but he just couldn't leave alone could he? His Rider luck just had to play up as well didn't it? no slash. Graphic violence in later chapters. not for the squeamish. Enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer:

None of the Characters in this work belong to me, most of the background plot doesn't belong to me either. If I really had that great an imagination, I'd spend my time sipping pina coladas in the Bahamas instead of writing fanfic.

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Alan Blunt sat behind his chair, staring blankly at Alex.

Alex blinked. No response.

Mrs Jones reached into her suit top and seized a peppermint, unwrapping it with a crinkle of plastic and popping it into her mouth.

"No," Alex growled quietly.

He was furious. He'd spent the last year constantly risking his life, and finally losing the person most important to him in the world, and yet they still thought that they had the right to dictate his life.

He'd had enough.

"Whatever this is, whatever new way you've concocted to get me killed, I'm not going. Try it. Try blackmailing me, it won't work. Nothing you can do to me will make me work for you ever again," he hissed.

Blunt's face was as emotional as a dead fish. He reached forward and lay a hand gently on top of a manila file in front of him, running his fingers slowly down the right hand side in a sickening mockery of a caress.

"Alex, you are the only one who can complete this mission. No one else is small enough." Blunt stated coldly.

Alex bristled; his size was a touchy subject for him. He was 5 foot 6 inches, an average height for a fifteen year old. However, the fact that his body had not yet grasped puberty with both hands meant that to Blunt and Mrs Jones still saw the potential benefits his small stature would bring.

"Surely you have another agent who's smaller than me, I don't need to get involved," he argued, but looking into their stony faces he knew that nothing he could say would stop them.

Alex's eye briefly narrowed and a calculating edge was visible in his eyes for a split second before his expression blanked becoming a smoothly neutral countenance.

"You've lost your bargaining chip anyway, Jack's dead," Alex stated coldly, self-blame and pain clear in the slightly strangled statement.

In that instant he knew that he had made a mistake. That he'd stepped on the landmine hidden under the carpet of lies and misdirection.

Mrs Jones leant forward a soft smile with a razor edge gracing her thin lips, "Alex, I know that you have many dear to your heart, especially young Sabrina. The Americans have the Pleasures under protective custody, to keep SCORPIA from finding them. Wouldn't it be unfortunate should Dr. Three stumble across their address?"

Alex clenched his teeth. His fingernails bit into his palm. "That's why you sent me to the Pleasure's; you just wanted new manipulation fodder," he hissed. "But you can't touch them. They're under the CIA protection, they would stop you."

Mrs Jones tilted her head, her mouth forming a disappointed frown at her favourite agent's naivety.

"Alex," she said quietly, eyes tinged with something unnervingly similar to pity, "we've let the CIA borrow you before. They've had no qualms about using you. That is proof in itself that we have close ties with America. Do you really think that we couldn't destroy her future from the comfort of our offices?"

Alex's face blanked, becoming an emotionless slate. More and more often it seemed he was losing the ability to express emotion. Talking to these bastards only made it worse.

His Physiatrist said that his emotions had progressively shut over the year working for MI6. He was told that it was a coping mechanism to help him deal with the multiple traumatic situations that he'd been forced into. Alex had told the old doddering fool that he didn't give two flying arses. Of course that hadn't helped his case.

He closed his eyes with a sigh, analysing his choices. He loved the Pleasures dearly, but after Jack's death he'd purposely left a hole in his heart so that he couldn't be hurt again. He knew however that he valued Sabrina life more than he did his own safety.

He bowed his head in resignation, jaw clenched in anger, "fine."

"Thank you Alex," if Alex was right there was a tinge of smugness in Blunt's tone that made Alex want to lean across the expensive wooden desk and strangle the man with his own hands.

Blunt flicked open the folder in front of him. His finger slid down the left hand side of the page again before he began to talk in a slow monotonous drone.

"Two weeks ago we made contact with a man who we believed had information on a top secret Russian experiment. We'd only heard rumours and we weren't sure how accurate they were. We were surprised when we met him and found that he was more than willing to give us the tech and research, stating that it was dangerous and could cause a global scale catastrophe unlike anything before." Alex actually snorted at that, this man obviously hadn't had contact with the same world as he had. The young teenager didn't think there was any potential worldwide disaster worse than a space station landing on Washington DC.

Blunt continued, "this machine is what was theorised impossible. It's a time machine." Mr Blunt paused, the ghost of a grimace passed across his features; obviously uncomfortable talking about something that was straight from a Sci-Fi movie. Alex was shocked into silence before he let out a snicker; did Blunt really think that he would fall for such an obvious lie? Clearly senility was starting to have an effect on the aging man.

Mrs Jones interrupted his laughter with a scowl, "this is a serious matter, Alex." She frowned disapprovingly, "I know that it sounds outlandish but this is no joke."

Alex rolled his eyes, "really?" he asked sarcastically, "because that's what it sounds like to me."

Mr Blunt had clearly recovered from his brief episode of discomfort, "this is 100% serious. The scientists that invented this machine and theorised that by transporting the object or person to a point well into the future, no laws of the universe would be broken. Therefore making time travel possible."

Alex raised an eyebrow sardonically, "really?"

Mr Blunt looked to Mrs Jones, faint signs of resignation visible on his usually unreadable expression.

She nodded, understanding an unspoken message. Mrs Jones stood and waved for Alex to follow her. Alex silently followed her as she guided him through the building down to the basement.

The entered a room off a long corridor.

The moment that Alex entered the room he gasped in surprise. Sitting in the centre of the room was a small cylindrical shaped block of metal, wires and nobs and toggles on every square inch. The shiny metal had carvings that were written in a unfamiliar language covering every square centimeter.

"This," Mrs Jones said, "is the time machine."

Alex jolted out of his surprise, "fine, there really are time machines and you people have one in your basement. What has this got to do with me?" he asked suspiciously.

"The machine is too small to send an adult human being." Said Mrs Jones.

"That's not true; I bet there are hundreds of people that are smaller than me that could go." Alex growled.

"True." Alex's head jerked around to look at her, "but there are none with sufficient training, none that have your native abilities or raw instincts. If I put an adult agent in there they would expect back up and assistance. And people always overlook teenagers Alex."

"Don't I know it," Alex muttered under his breath.

"So you're saying that because you've never bothered to send me help previously, you've chosen me for this mission?" Alex inquired coldly.

The suit clad woman nodded.

"Well that's just great," he growled his sarcasm palpable.

"We have sent mice and rats and even a trained dog through, but each time they don't come back, however using and microchip and a receiver that we send with them, we are aware that they are all alive and well no including one unfortunate rat that seems to have been crushed to death." Mrs Jones continued

Alex blanched, "and you expect to convince me to go through after a rat gets crushed?"

Mrs Jones nodded her head, "the rat was crushed hours after the shift, not while it happened."

Alex frowned but said nothing.

"You will be moving forward to the year 2569. Your assignment is to find out as much about the society in the future and about the world as you can. Two months after you are dropped there we will send a shuttle which will land at these co-ordinates at this time." She handed him a small slip of paper that had two set of co-ordinates and two dates.

"What are the second set for?" he asked

Mrs Jones pursed her lips. "If you are unable to make it to the point at this time then there will be another opportunity for us to retrieve you one month later."

Alex nodded, deep in thought. A man with thick glasses stepped forward and spoke with a thick Russian accent. "This is my time machine, you like?"

Alex shrugged.

The man frowned at him, disappointed at the lack of reaction.

Mrs Jones introduced them, "Alex this is Sasha. He is the man who invented this machine, Sasha this is Alex, the young operative who will be testing your machine."

The man grinned at him with open glee, "Test subject, yes?"

Alex paled, "you know what? I don't feel so good about this, why don't we do this sometime later?"

Mrs Jones shook her head, "Sasha might be a tad unhinged, but he is brilliant, you don't need to worry Alex."

Sasha muttered in Russian under his breath, to quietly for Alex to catch anything other than, "hope…Live…time."'

Alex was really regretting not studying further into the Russian language.

Mrs Jones cleared her throat, "is the machine ready Sasha?"

The man stared at Mrs Jones blankly for several seconds as he processed her words and then he nodded, "ready."

"What! I'm going right this instant? Like right now?" Alex asked nervously eyes bulging slightly as his perceived death came closer second by second.

"Yes Alex, right now. We have no time to waste; we will have finished this by this afternoon, hopefully," she said.

"For you maybe," he growl bitterly.

The insane scientist shuffled Alex towards the machine and swung the door open. As much as Alex hated to admit it, it was quite possible that Mrs Jones was right about the size issue. As small as he was his knees were to his chest and his head ducked low, it was a tight fit.

"Good luck," called out Mrs Jones.

The world began to spin as the machine began its movement. "Oh, God," Alex swore as he lost his equilibrium, but he quickly shut his mouth for fear of losing last meal. He slammed his eyes shut and prayed to every known deity this side of Hell.

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Finnick had been walking alone the beach early that morning trying to avoid thinking of anything at all, when he saw the boy. At first Finnick was sure that he was dead. Lying half on his back, drenched, blue skinned and limp it wasn't hard to leap to conclusions. He bent down over the boy listening for a breath as his hands searched his neck for a pulse. He heard a rattling breath before his wrists were grasped in a strong grip and the strangers eyes flickered open. Finnick leapt back twisting his hands out of the strangers grip.

The boy groaned as he sat up, holding his head in his hands.

"Who are you?" Finnick asked warily.

The boy turned his head to look at him, his expression cold, evaluating. Finnick felt a chill run up his spine. The expression he was seeing on the boy's face was eerily similar to the expressions that he saw on other Victors faces when they were around a possible threat. Namely, him.

"My name is Alex Rider," The boy—no, Alex said.

"What are you doing here?" Finnick asked.

"I don't know. Where are we?" he deflected.

"District 4. Ocean side of course," Finnick stated flatly.

"District 4? What's a District?"

Finnick gaped at him, seriously how could someone not know what a District was?

"You don't know what a District is?"

"I don't remember much, I think I might have amnesia," Alex lied.

Finnick just shrugged, he had no idea what amnesia was.

"A District is a group of people that live on certain lands, and there job is to supply food and goods to the capitol." The good ol' capitol. Like an abusive unreciprocated love affair.

"The capitol?" Was this kid for real?

"The capital of our country, Panem."

"Panem?"

"It used to be called North America I think; it's the only thing that's left. All the other countries are gone."

Gone! Gone were?"

Finnick shrugged.

"Come on, I'll get you back to my house and then I'll take you to the Hall of Justice and we'll talk to the Peace Keepers, they might know who you are."

Alex tilted his head, looking at the taller man. He knew nothing about this man, not even his name, but he obviously needed help understanding this country, North America.

"Alright." Alex stood without using the man's out stretched arm as a support, "what's your name?"

Finnick flushed in shame, had he really not given his name? was he so used to being recognized that he'd forgotten to introduce himself? His mother would have taken him over the knee for those kind of manners.

And he was opening his house to a complete stranger. What was getting into him?

"Call me Finnick." The Victor said.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Finnick,"Alex says politely. He needed a guide, and this Finnick would help him. Now he just needed to know how he'd gotten from London to America and what the hell had happened to the rest of the world.

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Finnick's house was very nice, far nicer than the many dilapidated houses that they traipsed past to reach his house, we past a large gateway arch that pronounced, "VICTORS VILLAGE," proudly.

"What's a Victor?" the teenage spy asks

"A Victor is someone who wins the Hunger Games," Finnick says solemnly, pain flickering in his eyes.

"Hunger Games?"

"It's a vicious fight to the death between 24 people, two from every District. Run and held by the Capitol for the Capitol's amusement." Finnick ground out emotionlessly. He worried that now that the kid knew that he was a murderer- and with none of the brainwashed hero-worship that he received from the training Careers- that he'd run in the opposite direction .

"That's… barbaric." Alex was lost for words.

Finnick snorted, "don't let them hear you say that," he warned.

"I won't," Alex promised solemnly. Already getting a feel for the messed up society he'd just stepped foot into. Finnick was startled, he hadn't expected the kid to pick up on the seriousness of the issue, but obviously he was smarter than the Victor had first thought.

When they entered the house, it was cold and empty. Four years Finnick had lived here, and yet it didn't feel lived in. It felt empty, heartless, hollow.

Finnick led the kid upstairs and pointed to the bathroom, "I'll grab some of my clean clothes and you can use them. Just leave your clothes outside the door." He instructed before descending the stairs and heading for the kitchen.

'What a weird day,' Finnick thought shaking his head as he dug through the cupboard for his bottle of white liquor. Start the day with a horrifying nightmare and then finding a random kid on the shoreline, less than half a metre from drowning. Not to mention that the kid has no idea where he was.

Finnick took a swig of the foul concoction that he was slowly becoming dependent on, before flicking on the stove and grabbing some eggs from the cooler.

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Alex was glad to get the stickiness of the salt water off his skin as he stood under the warm water. Only as his body temperature began to increase did he begin to shiver, and he realised just how close he'd come to hypothermia. He rubbed his hands together to ensure circulation and gently massaged his feet. As he did so, he tried to compute everything that had happened to him in the last few hours. Why was he in North America? Why not England? Had his mass somehow affected the machine? Was this really all that was left of the world?

The teenage spy turned the water off and slid out of the shower, drying himself vigorously with the towel.

He reached passed the door and blindly felt for the pile of Finnick's clothes that were lying on the floor outside the bathroom.

He got dressed quickly and headed downstairs towards where he thought the kitchen was. He could hear the burner and cooking utensils being moved. Following the noise he found Finnick just as he served breakfast. They sat down silently and observed each other as they ate. Alex cautiously checked his food for poisons even though he knew that Finnick had had ample opportunity to kill him already. And based off what the man had told him about the Hunger Games, and Finnick's powerful physique, Alex didn't doubt that the man could kill him if it came to that.

Once they finished their meagre meal, Finnick guided Alex to the city centre and the Hall of Justice.

They entered through the large double doors unhindered by the guards that were standing at attention outside. It was obvious that they recognised Finnick even though they didn't make any move to acknowledge him.

A bulky man stood beside a desk to the side of the double doors, and when Finnick approached the man looked up and smiled at Finnick, "Finnick, my old friend, what are you doing here on this lovely day?"

Alex frowned at the man, there was something not quite right with his speech pattern.

"hello Sebastian, I found this one washed up on the shores," he pointed to Alex, " and I wanted to know if you guys knew him, he doesn't remember anything but his name."

Sebastian scrutinised Alex closely before shrugging and turning back to Finnick, "doesn't look like he's from around here, more suited to district 1 or 2 with that blond hair, and he looks well fed too. He might be from one of the richer folk in District Three." He shrugged, "I'll look through the system," he turned to Alex.

"Name, boy?" he asked harshly.

"Alex Rider."

The man turned to the bulky computer that sat on the cluttered desk before him.

"Hmm, Alex Rider, hmm," the man shook his head and turned towards the pair, "No Alex Rider here."

Finnick bit his lip in thought, "can you make him a citizen of District four then?"

"I suppose, seeing as he doesn't actually exist he could become a citizen of any damn district he likes." Sebastian said.

Then the large man began frantically digging through what seemed like endless piles of paperwork covering every inch of the desk. Finally he gave up with the desk top and started opening draws. He reached the third draw and found what he was looking for.

"Here's a birth certificate, fill in your details or what you can and we'll file it. Then you'll be a citizen of District Four."

Alex looked at the birth certificate for a second before reaching out and grabbing it and the pen that was offered. He leant against the desk filling in his details. His sex, name and age were easy, but what about his father and mother's detail? He handed the certificate back to Sebastian, "I can't remember my parents."

Perfect, it wasn't a lie after all; he didn't remember either of his parents.

"Oh well, we'll just leave that blank I suppose." Sabastian said." Now, I will call Darren and he can take you to the community home."

"No!"

They both turned to Finnick who had a vaguely panicked look about him, "you can't send him to the community home; he'll be swimming with the fishes within a year or two."

Sebastian pursed his lips, "what do you suggest I do Finnick? You know that I can't give anyone special treatment, and plus he has nothing, I can't find someone to provide for him."

Finnick froze for a moment, thinking very carefully about what he was about to do and hoping that this wasn't the stupidest thing that he'd ever done, but he'd done a lot of stupid things so…

"I'll take him,"Finnick said in resignation.

"You don't have to," Alex protested, he didn't want to feel in debt to anyone, but he also really didn't like the idea of dying within a year or two. What the hell kind of orphanage was a death sentence?

"Are you sure?" Sebastian asked

"Yes, I'm God damn sure." Finnick hissed in frustration his eyes flashed with anger. He noticed that Sebastian flinched in the face of his ire. He wasn't pleased that he was in this situation; he knew that he was too young to take in a ward but he knew that life with him would be better than life in a community home.

Sebastian nodded, and filled in another form and gave it to Finnick to sign.

And so, at the age of eighteen Finnick Odair, celebrity, Victor and sex God extraordinaire became the father to a fifteen year old.

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An hour later both of them were sitting at the dining room table. "So?" Finnick said to fill the awkward silence.

Alex looked at him, "what do you do for a living?"

"Um," awkward question, "I help people, I mean we're a relatively rich District but there is always the poorer that need help."

"So because you won the Hunger Games you don't have to work?" Alex inquired

Finnick shifted uncomfortably, "yeah, and I get this house and heaps of money so all I have to do is mentor the tributes each year."

"Oh, OK. So what can I do to help then?" Alex asked

"Well, seeing as you're only about three years younger than me, I'm not exactly a fatherly figure. However, I'd say that you can do whatever you want to do."

"So what do I want to do? I have no idea what jobs there are here."

"Well working on the fishing boats is the main source of income in the District, I'm sure I can get you a job with one of the boats."

Much to Alex's concern, Finnick froze suddenly. "Damn it!"

Alex flinched backwards, "what's wrong?"

Finnick's usually handsome face held a deadly edge and Alex felt his mission honed instincts start to kick in, making him more aware of his surrounds and the perceived threat that sat in front of him on the wooden kitchen chair.

Finnick took several deep breaths to calm himself though the rage and frustration boiled his blood. "We had an opportunity and we missed it." Finnick takes a moment to compose himself, "we could have lied about your age and nobody would have known, it would be one less year in the reaping. "

"Reaping? For the Hunger Games? What do you mean one less year? Is there an age limit?" Alex asked, his edginess calming down slightly at the other man's control over his anger.

Finnick eyed him closely, "yes, the age maximum is eighteen and the minimum is twelve. We could have faked it, said that you were seventeen or something." He dropped his head onto the table.

"I could never pass as a seventeen year old, I've barely started puberty as it is," Alex said using his self-depreciating humour to make Finnick feel better.

Finnick laughed hollowly, glad that Alex wasn't holding it against him but still beating himself up about it. "Yes I'd noticed, barely enough muscle on you to throw a net," Finnick teased.

Alex rolled his eyes, "so you think I should work on the boats?"

"Yes, I'll talk to a friend of mine and see if I can get you on his boat, alright?"

Alex nodded.

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Alex screamed again as Sarov pulled the trigger, the boom turns on the chug of the conveyer belt as he moved slowly towards the crushers. Then Jack is screaming, there's so much blood pouring from the wound in Julius' head. Razim falling, Nile with his sword. Crocodiles and searing fire as it burnt up Alex's back.

He gasped awake, his limbs jerked in remembered terror as adrenaline flooded through his body. Alive, he though, unharmed, but he wasn't totally convinced.

"Quite the nightmare that," a voice stated, a man silt house against the doorway.

Alex was ashamed, when he had lived with the Pleasures he would often have nightmares, sometimes so bad that the whole house wouldn't sleep. Other times he would have periods were he wouldn't sleep at all. Other days he relived memories every time he closed his eyes. He'd never had a nightmare around a stranger though, never let his guard down enough for a stranger to enter his room without him waking. He was either a lot more exhausted than he thought or he subconsciously trusted Finnick. It was an unnerving thought.

Finnick walked forward, towards the kid's bed. He felt a kind of kinship to the kid. He wanted to help; obviously something had gone seriously wrong in his life if he was having such violent nightmares. But he was scared, scared that this kind, polite kid would turn out to have a story like his own.

"You want to get some fresh air and clear you head?" Finnick asks.

Alex nods still fighting to return his breath to normal, it's hard to see in the dark and the fact that he can't see the face of who he's talking to doesn't do anything to help him relax.

Alex checked the bedside clock and realised that it was only half past two. He felt guilty for waking Finnick and apologised to the man for waking him.

Finnick laughed and waved him off, "no need to apologise I was already wide awake."

Alex quickly got dressed and they headed out the door. The walked down the street, past the arching gateway. Finnick wove his way through the houses, and Alex followed closely, wondering where they were going.

When they reached their destination it was obvious. The building was huge. The doors were tightly shut, but when Finnick placed his hand on an electric scanner to the left of the entrance, the left hand door swung open.

"Welcome to the District Four's training grounds," Finnick announced, "this is where the Careers train, and where the Victors go to work out our frustration."

Alex looked around. The building was no less impressive inside, large marble corridors led to oak doors. The chandeliers were crystal. The opulence left a sour taste in his mouth as he remembered the many decrepit houses within the District.

Finnick guided him through the building out to a large courtyard. The ground was dirt; human shaped dummies lay to one side, bullseyes placed over the vital areas of the body. The other side of the courtyard held a large wooden shed, and as Finnick swung the doors open, Alex realised that it was a weapon cache.

"This is the practice ring, where Careers perfect techniques, before they head to the simulation rooms. I thought that seeing as you can't sleep and neither can I, a distraction might be welcome."

Alex nodded his head gratefully. Looking at the weapons, he realised that this really could be useful. The only weapons that he was good with were guns, knives and his body. True he was a third Dan in karate and had taken ninjitsu up, in honour of the late Yassen Gregorovitch, so he did have basic knowledge of swords.

However, his knowledge with knives was based on his short stint with SCORPIA and wasn't nearly comprehensive enough to use in an actual fight. His knowledge of guns however, was extremely comprehensive. Before Jack had died he he'd had the talent, just not the drive necessary to excel. However, after Julius, he'd learnt to accept that he must kill. He'd fought for the instinctive knowledge of how guns worked in an effort to become an embryotic shooter. Nurture not nature.

Finnick leant forward and grabbed a trident, "seeing as you don't remember anything, I thought that I might as well teach you something. Using a trident will help you on the boats, and if you ever… get reaped." He struggled to annunciate. He had realised not long after the boy had headed off to bed, what he'd done to Alex. He knew that the Capitol would leap at the chance at putting the adopted son of Finnick Odair, 'youngest ever Victor' into the arena.

The ultimate message, 'even if you win, you can never escape the Games.'

Finnick knew that while there was a chance that Alex would be reaped, it wasn't certain, but he wasn't going to risk anything. He'd put Alex in this situation, and he'd be damned if he didn't do something to help the teen.

Finnick taught Alex the grips necessary and a basic combat pattern, and then set up the dummies, making Alex repeat certain thrusts and jabs again and again into its chest until his arms shook and his chest heaved. Then Finnick let him have a break. He collapsed, bringing the trident down with him. Finnick rolled his eyes, muttering about wimps, even though he knew that after half an hour of using the heavy training trident, even he would have trouble continuing.

Finnick grabbed a blunt wooden practice sword, and a blunt practice trident.

"Now, attack me," Finnick ordered Alex.

Alex slowly lifted his head from where he was trying to catch his breath.

"Are you mad? Somebody could get hurt, and I'm exhausted," Alex complained.

Finnick scowled at the teens dramatics.

"Attack me!"

"OK, but you're mad, just so you know in case one of us dies before I have a chance to tell you," Alex said as he heaved himself to his feet.

He grabbed the practice trident from Finnick's hand, testing its balance. Then he took a step back from the Finnick and lifted the trident into a defensive block. The trident had longer reach than the sword, so he knew that he would have to stay outside the swords arch.

Finnick held the sword in a defensive grip, barking out instructions to Alex. Damn, now he was reminding himself of Brutus.

Alex followed Finnck's instructions without complaint, waiting for Finnick to attack.

'Good, 'thought Finnick, 'Alex either wasn't combative by nature or he knew how to play the waiting game.'

Finnick leapt forward, aiming to spear Alex in the chest, but Alex held the trident in two hands, and block using a staff fighting technique. He held the trident on either side of the impact zone, forcing the sword up and away from his chest, over his head.

Finnick nodded in approval, and then the real fight began.

10 minutes later, he was impressed, incredible so. After only minor explanation, and corrections, Alex was fighting like he was born to wield a trident. Finnick attacked harder and harder, trying to find Alex's a chink in Alex's defensive manoeuvring, but every time he thought he was breaking through Alex would jump out of the way of his wooden blade or pivot to the side. Never before had he come across someone with so much natural talent.

Alex was using moves that Finnick hadn't even taught him. Instinctively, from his knowledge of staff and sword fighting he combined them, trying new combinations. He felt himself being pushed back and knew that no matter how skilled he was, Finnick would always be stronger. His chest was heaving, arms shaking, sweat dripping from his brow and his lungs ached by the time Finnick called for halt.

He was incredibly grateful. He dropped the trident, lifting his arms above his head he put his head back and tried to catch his breath. From where he was, he could hear Finnick breathing hard as he massaged his shoulders to stretch out his muscles.

When Alex caught his breath, he two started to stretch; it wouldn't do to get muscles cramps after all.

"That was fun," Finnick said.

"Fun! You call that fun," Alex choked out, wide eyed.

Finnick raised an eyebrow at him, and Alex gave up. He laughed.

"Yeah, I guess it was. You're a great fighter," Alex complimented Finnick sincerely.

"You too kid," Finnick admitted. He didn't want to tell Alex just what he thought of the kids fighting in case Alex decided that good was good enough. Finnick knew that if Alex ever did get reaped, he could never be 'good enough'.

They packed up together, and exited the building, heading back to 'Victor's Village.'

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	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The days within District four continued in that fashion.

Alex found a job on a trawler that a friend of Finnick's owned.

It was around 25 metres long and three cars wide. The stench of dead fish was overpowering but the more time that Alex spent in District 4 the less impact it seemed to have on him. Only a week ago the stench would have had Alex emptying his stomach into the sea but now while it clung to his nose even after he got home, he was able to ignore it to some extent.

The pulley system used for dragging the nets up were massive, the reel was at least a metre in diameter. The captain explained that the size of the winch was necessary for the massive loads induced by the retrieval of the net. The sun tanned man stated that the pulley system could hold a peak load of around 40 tonne per side, and proudly, he regaled Alex with a tale of a massive catch that had bent the booms, "more than 70 tonnes, I caught in that day, in a single catch. Mostly Atlantic Herring, but a couple of sharks that me and the guys distributed."

Alex became close friends with the older man and often spent the afternoon after fishing with the crew talking and eating salt biscuit rations set aside specifically for the trawler men.

One afternoon Alex ran an idea by the older man to increase productivity for fishing and get Alex a chemical that he needed.

"I know of an element called caesium. A version of it is called caesium chloride and it's used in liquid form to treat patients with cancer. I believe that in solid form it will cause the water to bubble and it could herd the fish up into the nets like the echo-locating drive of a pod of dolphins."

The man stared at Alex blankly, "you think that this will let us catch more fish?"

Alex nodded eagerly, "it's just that I can't get my hands on any of the stuff, but I sure that it would increase productivity by over 100 percent. You'd fill the quota, have heaps of spare time and have more than enough fish to go around for everybody."

The man's eyes gleamed eagerly, more food, less starvation, a happier District and most importantly the capitol peacekeepers would get off his back. Not to mention the extra money in his back pocket.

"This sounds like a very good idea; do you know where I could get my hands on some of this chemical?"

Alex nodded his head cautiously, "if you contact the District 1, they make and use the chemicals for several treatment processes. We would need the solidified substance though, perhaps 10 blocks at a kg each."

The man nodded, "I'll see what I can do."

Alex grinned, and threw back his watered down wine. He'd gained the chance at the chemical he wanted in a single conversation. He relished the easy, straightforward way of the District 4 fishermen. There was no subtly political dancing. It was straight forward and to the point. It meant that they weren't expecting to be tricked. It made them gullible. Finnick however was the exception to this rule and didn't suffer from his District gullibility, mainly due to his exposure to capitol influences.

During the months that Alex spent working on the boats he learnt how to weave and repair nets and how to fish like a true District four citizen. He became close friends with several of the dock workers and a boy called Pike Timin who was soon to turn eighteen.

One night when he sat down to eat dinner with Finnick as they always did, Finnick brought up the fact that a young man named Taylor Mahi had died after being run over by a trawler while free diving. Finnick mentioned that the boy had been planning on volunteering that year. He seemed relieved that the boy wouldn't be going. Alex wondered why as it seemed to him that it didn't matter what person went, they would die. Finnick explained why he was relieved, "Some people walk into the arena expecting to die, they're usually the unwilling tributes. Others complain, fight and argue because they're scared but they trying to hide it- they're usually the privileged ones from the richer side of the District. The rest are so arrogant that they don't think that they will die. They're careers, literally raised to fight to death in the arena and they seem to think that they're the only ones with that advantage. It's hardest to deal with the latter because they're infuriatingly naive."

Almost every night Finnick would walk him over to the training centre. After several weeks Alex asked Finnick if it was possible to enter his fingerprints into the database so he could go alone. They went and spoke to the centre manager who entered Alex's details into the database with the mutual understanding that Alex would avoid the Careers and if there was a conflict that he would turn and walk away. He was allowed to act as he wished if he was attacked first, but Alex held the knowledge that most of the careers had been training for years close to his heart. He wouldn't attack a career unless they tried to kill him because if he defended himself he could very well end up dead.

After that he went alone to the training centre. Alex knew that Finnick was thankful that he could finally get a full night's sleep again.

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Finnick was disturbed by Alex's behaviour. It was great that the kid was so determined to not get trapped in memories after having a nightmare. However, he worried that the kid had such horrible dreams. More than half the nights that Finnick actually got to sleep he was woken by the kid's screams and moans. One thing he had noticed was that if the kid went to the training grounds and then came back and went to bed he would actually sleep. So when the kid asked for his prints to be entered into the system, Finnick couldn't deny Alex his only respite from the nightmares.

That wasn't the only thing that disturbed him. The kid was just too good. The kid wielded a trident like it'd been attached to his hand from birth, and he wasn't much worse with the swords. When Finnick had tried to teach the kid about long range weapons, the teen had actually had the guts to roll his eyes and nick the spear out of his hand before skewering the dummy through the heart. What Finnick didn't know what that on the nights that the kid left by himself, using the spears and bow and arrow was what he practiced. If he had known, he might have been even more disturbed. Did the kid really think that he had such a chance of ending up in the games that he was going to extraordinary lengths to learn all of the weapons?

But Alex's mind was set. In his view, it wasn't possible for him to have a quiet life. From the moment that he heard about the hunger games, he'd had a niggling suspicion. And while the very idea of killing another kid made his intestines squirm, he knew himself well enough to know that if it was his life or that of another kid, he wouldn't hesitate. And knowing that about himself made him sick to the stomach.

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His awareness of the danger that he was in and his instincts that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, forced him to watch the recaps of old Hunger Games. Most of the games he watched blankly overcome by the sheer brutality displayed. Alex knew it would be hypocritical if he was unwilling to admit that he would willing to do that to survive. He understood the value of human life better than most and after watching the death of children he knew that the price could be horrifyingly low at times. The price of entertainment, of amusement. Other games like Finnick's he couldn't help but laugh, sure it was bloody and violent but who would think that somebody could win the Hunger Games with only a smile and a trident?

Alex appreciated the fact that in the Hunger Games appearances really did matter. They could be the difference between starving to death without a sponsor or lavishing in gifted food and weapons. Looking good was a weapon in itself. However, the teenager wasn't naïve enough to think that the capitol people did it out of the generosity of their hearts. He wasn't naïve enough to think that all the capitol wanted was eye candy.

He was watching in the middle of the second bloodbath of the 65th Games when Finnick walked in. the older man froze like a startled deer as he watched himself spear a girl from 5 through the throat. The young victor took a shaky gasping breath before turning and storming out an ugly grimace plastered on his face. That in itself was telling, Alex though.

A few weeks later Finnick was willing to forgive and forget the fact that Alex had watched his games. He knew that the younger man wasn't scared by the fact that he'd killed several children.

"The Games themselves aren't always the most dangerous part of the Hunger Games," he said as he gave Alex a disk with neat cursive script that stated 50th Games boldly on the cover.

This is Haymitch Abernathy's Games," Finnick said blankly, "his family all died in an unfortunate incident a few weeks after the end of his games."

Alex tilted his head to the side; that sounded conspicuous. "Why?"

"Just watch the finale, you'll work it out for yourself," Finnick said, before standing and leaving.

Alex watched and Alex learnt. He knew that doing anything that could constitute as rebellious would earn you a one way trip to hell. A self-moulded hell at that. He'd watched a few of the more recent Hunger Games recaps and sometimes saw Haymitch in the background when they interviewed the mentors. He looked drunk and unwell. The price for the capitol's piece of mind.

Alex researched Haymitch's life after the games and found it surprisingly empty compared to the other Victors. The others had hospital injury reports that sounded quite suspicious but he found none of that in Haymitch's folio. There was a drunken brawl or two and an overdose but nothing else. Haymitch, Alex decided objectively, was extremely lucky. The man had escaped the grasping hands of the capitol and slipped into his bottle almost completely unhindered. He probably didn't even realise just how fortunate he was as he attempted to drown his misery in alcohol.

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	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to _that- shrinking-violet _for her amazing Beta work, if it weren't for her this story wouldn't have been updated for another few days.

Disclaimer: Nothing that you recognize is mine, unfortunately.

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Alex drew another arrow, and placed it on the nock. His feet were facing at an exact right angle to the target, with his arm holding the bow as perfectly level with the ground. He took a breath and drew the animal tendon string. He released half a lung full of air and froze. He looked down the bow carefully before he released the string. The arrow twitched to the left at the last second before veering off and smacking into the wall to the left of the target. Damn.

Alex had subtly questioned Finnick on his diversity of weapon knowledge. He sought to understand what kind of aptitude was expected of a Career. What he came to learn about the structure and training of the so called 'best killers of Panem' shocked him.

In response to Alex's subtle inquiries, Finnick had shrugged and said simply, "We do get quite a bit of weapons training but that is only a minor part of it. The main belief is that if you can't find your feet in the arena by yourself then you're dead. At least that is in District 4. I'm fairly sure that District 2 has a different ideology."

Alex despite himself, was impressed by this ideology, he knew that a person that couldn't stand on their own two feet was as good as dead after the Games unless they had already learnt independence. What better way to learn it than in the Games themselves?

Learning to rely only on oneself in the Games was a sure fire way to ensure that Victors wouldn't fall easily to the capitol manipulations; and that when they eventually did, they would have the mental and physical fortitude to survive.

"Why does District 2 have a different philosophy?" Alex asked, curiously. Alex was certain that excessive coaching was as detrimental as inadequate training so he was curious about District 2's approach. Excessive preparation for the Games would act as a crutch, supporting their body weight until it was no longer there and then the tribute would either collapse to the ground dead or learn to walk.

"They're always better trained, they're not only better physically equipped but they've generally had some kind of psychological preparation as well."

Alex grimaced, knowing exactly what kind of preparation Finnick was alluding to. He remembered his time with SCORPIA far too well. The human shaped targets that the other assassins had had no qualms shooting. He remembered the way his stomach had churned the first time he'd gotten a head shot on one of the targets. Remembered the disappointed look that Nile had given him when his results had been brought back and he found that his score was 10% lower than the rest of the class. "They're ready to kill." he said quietly. It wasn't a question but a statement.

Both of them knew exactly how the Games were played; knew that the ones who could kill without hesitation would last the longest.

They young ex-spy asked what weapons they'd practiced with and found that they usually chose a single weapon to excel with.

"But what if you aren't provided that weapon in the arena?" Alex had asked wondering how these people could possibly craft such a faulted methodology for training the new generations.

"Either you make one or you die," Finnick had said with candour.

Alex had frowned; he wouldn't let himself walk to his death with a noose wrapped around his neck ready for the capitol to hang him with. Proficiency in only a single weapon allowed the capitol to hand pick who would survive the bloodbath and who wouldn't by what weapons they placed at the Cornucopia. It gave a chosen few an advantage over the rest.

The calculating young man knew that he wasn't going to be a favourite if he ended up in the arena. He could make the people like him but he couldn't make the Gamemakers change their minds. He knew that he would have to die; that the Gamemakers would be bent on destroying him. to destroy him would signify the destruction of Finnick's legacy.

He'd found Finnick's lack of knowledge disturbing. And it left him without a tutor, so he was left to his own devices to work out how the frustratingly inaccurate device called a bow, worked. The longer he practiced the more Alex wished for a colt magnum or browning, at least then he'd have the satisfaction of blowing away the wall instead of just having the shots bounce off. Why did this backwards world have to stop using guns? It would have made everything so much easier. It was frustrating how much the two art forms differed. Alex had hoped that his comprehensive knowledge of firearms could help him with the bow but it was not to be.

Alex re-nocked an arrow; he closed his eyes and tried to release the feeling of frustration that made him clench his jaw and scowl at the target.

"You'll never hit anything like that," a voice rang through the courtyard.

Alex flinched and swung around, his shoulder tense and he held the string taut and aimed the bow in the voices direction instantaneously. A beautiful young woman stepped out from the shadows, smirking at him. He realised that it didn't matter whether he had the bow aimed at her; he wouldn't be able to hit her with it so he released the tension on the string gently and aimed the still loaded bow at the ground. Alex watched the woman curiously as she threw her head back and let out an unusual bark of laughter.

"Don't worry sweetie, I'm not offended," she said teasingly, "but what I am curious about is how you got in after hours. Only Victors are allowed in after sunset and you're definitely not one. You're also not a Career or else I would have seen you around. So sweetie, who are you?" she hissed, her body language changing from playful to threatening.

Alex sensed a threat from her and it made him tense, he twisted his body sideways slightly into a relaxed fighting stance that would have been impossible to recognise without comprehensive knowledge of martial arts

"Finnick let me in, I'm his adopted son," Alex explained carefully.

"Oh!" she startled, "you're that brat."

"Yes," Alex said dryly, "I'm that brat."

The woman blushed bashfully.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise who you were. I thought you'd broken in."

"Don't worry," Alex stated neutrally, "I'm just trying to poke my own eye out with this arrow, nothing untoward."

"Yes," she giggled in her unnerving manner, "you were doing quite a good job of that earlier. That was one of the reasons why I knew that you couldn't be a Career, but now that I think of it, the fact that you live with Finnick is enough of an explanation."

She giggled again, as if what she'd said was dangerous in its hilarity, and Alex decided that there must either be an inside joke or the woman in front of him was more than a tad unhinged.

"I'll show you how," she said, skipping forward, uncaring of the still loaded weapon in Alex's hands, "I'll stop you from killing yourself accidentally at least."

"Thanks," Alex said wearily, unsure whether receiving assistance from this insane little girl would be helpful at all, "I could use some help. What's your name?"

"Annie Cresta."

The girl turned out to be extremely helpful, and by the end of the evening he had hit the target over 40 times. His shoulders ached but he was pleased.

He thanked her as she skipped away into the darkness of the training facility and all he got in response was an insane giggle.

That morning as they sat down to breakfast he mentioned Annie Cresta to Finnick, he laughed.

"What? Why're you laughing?" Alex asked, perplexed, did Finnick think she was nuts as well?

"Annie Cresta's a Career; yet you didn't question her being there. She must have realised that if you saw her snooping around, you'd ask questions, but by initiating the conversation, she convinced you with one sentence that she was meant to be there." Finnick snickered.

The teenage superspy blushed in embarrassed but inwardly he was wondering if her unhinged behaviour was used to cover her intentions.

"Oh, shut up. How was I meant to know?" Alex hissed as he threw his dished into the sink and stormed off to his room to get a few hours' sleep before going out on the trawlers.

Finnick just shook his head, and wisely shut up.

The one good thing that came from that rather embarrassing moment however was the fact that Alex was hitting the targets more often.

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They meet again at the training grounds, Alex doesn't ask what she's doing there, but she doesn't put the same boundaries into place.

"So, I hear that you come here every night, why?"

"I have dreams, sometimes I can't remember enough and sometimes…" he drifts off, unable to explain what drives him from his warm bed every night.

"And sometimes you remember too much," she sums up. He nods realising that she is far too perceptive to lie to.

She hums in sympathy, and then teaches him how to use a bola.

Three weeks after the beginning of their impromptu meetings, she offers to take him hunting. It's illegal, except for training Careers, so for her to offer to take him means that she is risking a whipping. Alex declines, stating instead that he will start playing with the simulation rooms instead. She seems relieved.

"Finnick?" Alex inquired, as he knocked on his friend's door one morning.

He heard a groan, and a yell, "One minute!"

Alex waited. Finnick flung open the door, half dressed as he rummaged through the dresser searching for a shirt.

He snagged a shirt, and turned to Alex, "What?"

"Can you teach me how to use the simulation rooms?" Alex asks

"Sure, kid. Let me have breakfast first, alright?"

"Thanks."

They walked through the facility and Alex saw for the first time those who classified as 'Careers'. They didn't look anything particularly special to him. They looked like a mixture between the football jocks and the older year bullies with their leers and strong builds. Alex almost smiled as they tried tentatively to intimidate him mindful of whom his companion was.

The simulation room turns out to be extremely challenging. The room was a solid metal room that contained no glass so that all training within the rooms was 'private training' as long as the cameras were overlooked; it was only for appearances sake though. Every second that they were in the rooms they were watched and analysed. The Career's fighting styles were broken down and certain weapons or training activities would be recommended if weaknesses were found in your chosen style.

Replica humans made out or orangey yellow projections attack him. Every time he hits one, it collapses into yellow dust before disappearing. The only disappointing factor is that he doesn't really spar with them because they go straight through him and he goes straight through them. It does however allow him to get more practice on moving targets for this bow. He also finds that it assists with his reaction- draw and fire- times.

When the young teen stumbled out of the room two hours later, panting and drenched in sweat but with a satisfied smirk, Finnick just rolls his eyes.

The older man had spent the period of time helping the younger Careers with their trident wielding techniques as he often did when he felt the need to do 'good Samaritan' acts.

Afterwards, Finnick taught Alex how to control the settings on the simulation rooms. There were several different levels of difficulty and how many 'lives' you were given. Alex just shook his head, he wondered what the point of teaching Careers how to survive was if they were given 'lives' , such things would just subconsciously encourage them mentally minimize possible threats to their person. Unless they were able to consciously differentiate between real life and simulations. Alex decided that he wouldn't ever use lives; he'd spent 2 hours in the simulation rooms without 'dying' so he could easily fight and still avoid teaching himself bad habits.

They finished quickly at the facility and they both returned to the house for a shower after working in sweltering conditions. He spends the rest of the afternoon filling the trawler that he worked on with empty crates, ready to be filled with fish.

The next week was a blur, Alex spends most nights in the privacy of the simulation rooms, throwing knives and shooting his bow. He even tried using throwing axes, but he found that whenever he threw them he was knocked off balance. His favourite he was finding, was the trident and spear, but he wasn't uncomfortable with a sword. He felt at home with a weapon in his hands, and his arms were slowly getting stronger and his hands more callous.

Every morning after Alex returned from the training facility Finnick and Alex would go for a run. Sometimes it was fast for a short distance, sometimes slow for several kilometres. They would talk, Finnick would tell Alex about life in district four, about the capitol and the Games, and in return Alex slowly opened up. Alex pretended that his memories were coming back, using the fact that he had nightmares as proof that they were slowly returning. He told Finnick about his country, using his knowledge of District one to fake that that was where he was from originally. Small bits of information buries amongst the lies, like the fact that his parents died while he was young and that he was raised by his uncle. That his uncle had died the previous year and he was cared for by a woman called Jack. Though he made Jack out to be the matron of a community home.

After their run Alex would spend six to eight hours working at the docks or on trawlers. He would then return home have a shower and help to cook dinner which generally consisted of some type of sea animal, bread and wild fruits from the hills behind the District.

Alex asks Finnick late one night, why he'd never been sent to school and why other children his age worked. Finnick laughs and told him that for children over the age of twelve, schooling is non-compulsory unless you belong to a 'smart' district like District Three or smaller outlying Districts where there were a small amount of potential jobs.

In District Four where it is a large, relatively rich District that had more work than workers children often didn't even get the expected 6 years of education. Training for Careers takes the place of school and for everybody else they often worked long hours for cheap wages with often more than one job.

Alex asked how the Careers were reaped for the Games. Finnick explained to the young teen that it was extremely political. He told Alex that it was a game of dare as people volunteer over each other or after each other, trying to be the last person to volunteer. He mentioned that some families fall so far as blackmail or bribery to allow their chosen champion into the Games. The champion was never related to their sponsoring family because of the risk of emotional ties damaging their judgement. The world-weary teen could understand that. Finick also mentioned that the capitol had interfered before, scaring people into not volunteering.

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The captain of the boat that he crewed on came through for Alex. The man was from the wealthier side of town and so could afford the exorbitant prices that District 1 charged. It was worth it. The Caesium was dropped before the nets were reeled in when deep sea fishing. The bubbles would force the fish upwards and into the nets. The crew celebrated their massive catches by opening a cask of moonshine, and so they didn't noticed when one block went missing until the next day. In the end the captain just shook his head, complained about thieves and ordered another ten blocks to be sent out to him.

Alex smirked as he gouged at the soft metal, he loved it when a plan came together.

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Mags had not had a single good night's sleep in nearly 60 years. She would often wake, believing herself to be back in her Games. Eventually the memories had dulled in old age and she was able to sleep deeper and more frequently. That didn't stop her from haunting the training centre at night like many Victors hand done before her and many more would do after her. Though she was old, she knew that she was possibly the best candidate to mentor tributes. Unlike her fellow Victors from District 4 who had lost all form of empathy. Not only that but she was one of the most sane, she suffered from the horrors of her Games but not as severely as others and she spent most of her life sane, refusing to become dependent on substances of any kind after losing her father to a morphling overdose.

The old woman was surprised when she stepped through the doors of the training centre to hear the familiar sound of muffled feet moving in the courtyard. She walked through the training centre and met a boy that she had no recollection of ever meeting. She watched as he flexed and spun, sword in hand. She watched as serious unseeing eyes seemed to analyse an invisible foe for weakness and she felt a physical pain in her chest as she saw that the boy wielded the sword with a vigour and precision that only old pain and nightmares could bring.

She leant against the wall, watching as the boy moved with astounding grace, almost dancing as the sword whistled through the air as he fought his invisible foe. She felt a sting of envy, remembering the days when she could move like that, though she admitted to herself wryly, she'd never had any talent with swords.

The boy turned his back to Mags, facing towards the humanoid fighting dummies. He used the same flowing elegance as he fought the still dummy, dodging out of the way of invisible blows. Ducking and spinning with a deadly accuracy.

She smiled gently, as he thrust the sword so hard at the dummy that it got stuck. He tried to pull it out but it wouldn't come, so he placed a foot on the dummies chest and heaved with his whole body weight. And ended up landing on his butt with the sword clenched in his right hand.

Mags chuckled, and the boy swung around, weary. She jokingly placed her hands in the air as the sword was held level with her chest. She was well outside the range of the sword but she wasn't willing to risk her life by unsettling the young man when he was so obviously close to the edge. The teen's eyes narrowed suspiciously at the old woman for a second before he lowered the weapon.

"Who're you?" Alex asked, tension radiating through his voice.

"My name is Mags, I am a Mentor." Mags said, "Dear boy, you fight with such anger, what troubles you?"

Alex disliked this lady purely on the basis that she was too perceptive and far too nosy.

"Little troubles me," Alex said coldly, "I am simply trying to become more skilled at wielding a sword."

The woman nodded in polite disbelief, but seemed too realised that she had pushed too far earlier, "Well then boy, I will leave you to your blade practice."

Alex nodded quietly, and the woman turned and left. Alex released the breath he hadn't known that he'd been holding. He didn't like the imperious tone of the old woman, but if she was here she must be a Victor and if Alex knew anything, he knew that of all the breeds of people within District 4, the breed of Victors were the most violent and inconspicuous.

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Pike Timin was pleasant enough company if a bit boastful. He was a down to earth boy in general, but his greatest dream in life was a bit farfetched. He wanted to become a Victor. The boy, when questioned about what he wanted to do after he became a Victor, just looked at Alex as if he were daft and said, "Nothing."

Three weeks after they met and only a week before his birthday, Pike died. It was sudden and violent. The left pulley of the reel assemble failed, releasing the wire. The wire snapped forward tearing the young man in half. The boy's leg bones shattered, becoming visible through mangled flesh. His intestines burst out under the massive load of the wire as it cut through his body. The scent of blood and intestines and the feel of the liquid as it dripped out of his hair, down his face and onto his clothes made Alex gag as he tried desperately to keep his meal down.

For a killing orientated District, the men were all surprisingly squeamish, and shocked. They stood lost as the watched the pool of blood slowly grow around the mangled mound of disfigured flesh. Alex too had frozen, but only momentarily to mourn the passing of his friend before he went about shutting the reeling machine down to avoid further damage or death. The silence was haunting as everyone stood uncomprehending of the horror before them. It took a full thirty seconds more for It to finally sink in. A few men ran to the side to empty their stomachs into the sea as the smell of intestines and blood wafted through the air.

Alex slapped the captain out of his blank daze so that the man could take charge. The young teen grabbed a few bed sheets from below and rapped the lower and upper half of Pike up. Alex hid the mangled body from view in hope that it would assist in minimizing the shock that the crew was going through. The sheet was quickly covered in blood and gastric juices, as were Alex's hands, but the covering of the body snapped the crew out of their stupor. One of the men who Alex knew was close to Pike started swearing and crying, falling into hysterics. The captain's voice cracked as he ordered the men to cut the line and release the net.

The day was long and hard, and Alex's mind kept flashing back to the memory of the mangled flesh of his friend, but outwardly that he was the least effected. He went about his job assisting where others were unable, his eyes only slightly glazed and glassy, barely noticeable compared to the men openly weeping around him. They headed straight back to harbour.

The fish that had been caught earlier in the day were thrown into crates carelessly, as the second in command waited for the capitol truck to take the produce, the captain left to inform Pike's family about his demise.

Alex ignored it all, deciding to head home instead of waiting for the captain to return. Alex wanted wash off the blood and gastric juices that were starting to burn his skin. He felt that he needed to put this behind him. Accidents happen, he should simply be glad that it wasn't him.

Finnick wasn't home, and Alex thanked God as he traipsed up the stairs. He had enough issues dealing with Finnick who would probably freak out at the fact that he was covered in blood. He also felt that the less that saw his apparent lack of emotion the better, he knew his reaction to Pike's death wasn't 'normal'. He didn't want to worry Finnick about his inability to express emotions. He scrubbed himself raw, trying to remove the sticky feeling of blood from his skin. Finally when the hot water had long run out and Alex felt that he could get no cleaner, he exited the room and grabbed a new set of clothes. He headed downstairs and made himself and omelette.

He sat down at the dining room table staring listlessly at the food in front of him, unable to bring himself to eat.

That was how Finnick found him, eating at a rate slower than a snail. That was truly the only indicator that something was wrong with Alex. But Finnick already knew. He'd met his old friend, the captain of the boat that Alex was working on, on his way back. The man had been near hysterics, shaking and in tears as he told Finnick what had happened. Finnick worried that the man was having a mental breakdown.

He'd asked what happened, and through the man's quite gasping sobs he was able to learn exactly what had put the generally stoic man in such a state. When Finnick had asked the man where Alex was, the man had stared blankly at him, too deep in shock, too lost in pain and grief to truly comprehend Finnick's question. Unable to get any more information out of the man, he'd given him a half hug and a few words of comfort, before rushing back to the house, hoping that that was where Alex was.

When he saw Alex sitting at the table, eating, a slightly vacant look on his face, Finnick had a flash back to his own Games. He recognised the emotional blank that Alex had put up, a wall between himself and his emotions. He remembered how his mind had almost completely shut down. He recalled the painful memories of the period of time when he'd struggled with depression before Mags had snapped him out of it. He felt pity for the boy well up in his chest, but then crushed it. Finnick had been younger than Alex in his first Games, and pity wouldn't help the boy.

"Alex," he asked gently, "are you alright?"

'No, of course he's not alright,' Finnick cursed himself furiously, 'he's just seen one of his only friends killed,'

Alex's eyes flicker up to him, and Finnick flinches in shock as he realises that Alex is 100% aware of his surroundings. That the lost dazed look that had been clearly visible only seconds before was gone. He seemed to be so completely unaffected by the death that he supposedly witnessed that it makes Finnick frown. Surely there should be more of a reaction than this?

"Yes, Finnick, I'm fine, why do you ask?" Alex inquired softly.

"I heard what happened today, I just wanted to make sure that you were OK." Finnick explained carefully, unnerved by Alex's uncharacteristic behaviour.

"I'm fine."

"Oh, OK."

An awkward silence remained though.


	4. Chapter 4

Finnick was getting restless.

It was two weeks until the Reaping. Two potential volunteers had died. To those who kept a careful eye on the Capitol, the signs were as clear as day.

The Capitol was scheming. Planning the death of somebody within the District. Finnick didn't know who the potential victim for this game was, but he had his suspicions. His gut clenched whenever he thought about the possibility of Alex being trapped in the Games. He knew that if the boy was entered into the Games, he wouldn't have much chance of winning. Yet, he felt faintly guilty that he was more disturbed at the thought of Alex winning his Games than the boy dying bloodily. He didn't want to see this young man covered in the blood of other children. He didn't want Alex to suffer his life. He didn't know where that thought had come from, but it was an unnerving one. He tried to crush the feelings of discomfort.

He wasn't particularly close to Alex, but he did feel that the boy was his responsibility. So he encouraged Alex to spend more time at the training centre. He hoped that Alex would become more familiar with the weapons. Their rare conversations became more and more focused of what kind of survival skills Alex might need to survive. Alex seemed to be resigned to this reaping, and his relaxed attitude unnerved Finnick. He practiced and practiced. All Alex did was work on the boats and practice. Alex had reached an aptitude with the trident that Finnick- trident wielding extraordinaire- found impossible to match.

Alex was quite unaware of his unusual aptitude with the weapons, as he had always trained alone or with Finnick. He couldn't recognize Finnick's talent with a weapon any easier than he could his own. He tried out almost all of the weapons in the training centre. His weakness was the bow for which he held no natural aptitude for. Neither did he have the patience needed to learn the skills required to master the awkward weapon. His draw and nock speed was reasonable but his accuracy was sadly lacking. However, during his sparing practice with Finnick, he remained unbeaten with the spear and sword.

Alex's observations of Finnick were as astute as ever. He had noticed the older man's nervous preoccupation with the coming games. However, when they talked, Finnick would attempt to subtly shift the conversation away from Finnick's gut-clenching sense of impending doom.

Alex began once again, going through his Kata in the privacy of his room every night to ensure that he remained limber and agile. Despite the kilograms of muscle that he'd packed on in the last few months. Alex was aware that as the 'adopted' son of a victor, he held a far higher chance of being Reaped. He was well aware of how corrupt governments worked. He had enough experience with them after all. No matter how much anyone protested that the Reapings were not rigged, it seemed too convenient a way to remove troublesome individuals. He knew that if he was reaped the message would be loud and clear. Broadcast throughout the whole of Panam, 'even if you win, you will lose.'

He knew however, that if he won the Games, the message would backlash at the capitol. Especially if Alex played it right. Possibly enough to incite a riot. The young spy was practiced in politics, Jones and Blunt had forced him to attend more than one class on international politics. 'Backstabbing class' more like.

So Alex trained. He practiced, and he fought. He had no one to judge his improvements or skills against, so he remained humble. For the first time in his life, he felt driving to do something. He wasn't a cow, and he didn't live in a slaughter house. No lives depended on him now; the only person that depended on him for survival was himself. How refreshing.

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The Reaping didn't creep up on Alex and Finnick, it struck with unerring accuracy and violence. The day before the reaping Finnick had acted more distant than usual which wasn't saying all that much considering that the two could go days without conversing. He had stared at Alex over breakfast. Alex had raised an eyebrow emotionlessly and stared back. Finnick realised that he couldn't bring himself to care whether or not Alex would survive the Games if he was Reaped this year. He Stared at Alex but saw what he wanted to see, not what was in front of him. He was blind to the increased musculature of the young man's arms and callouses on his hands. He missed the fluidity of the teen's movements and the causal hunch of his powerful shoulders.

Finnick's couldn't see any killer instincts or tightly leashed violence that usually simmered just under the skin of prospective victors. He saw a troubled teenager, not a highly trained Career. Finnick felt like sighing in regret. If Alex was Reaped, Finnick wasn't sure that he could get the boy through it.

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Alex stood in a small square along with all the other males from his age group. His ears filled with the nervously subdued chatter of the teens around him. The stage was directly in front of him, sitting before the Hall of Justice. He saw Finnick and the woman called Mags sitting in chairs next to a rotund man who wore lavish and unusual clothes, a purple trench coat and an orange polo shirt. A skinny young woman stood before the microphone, she had dyed her skin green, making her seem like a ghastly, anorexic, female version of the hulk.

"Good Morning, District 4." She called through the microphone, and there was silence.

"Thank you." She said.

She ranted for half an hour about a rebellion and the need for order and balance, the need for sacrifice. Then she read out the names of the past victors. There were seven names. Seven people out of the one hundred and thirty-eight that had entered the games in the last 68. Almost one every ten years. For a supposedly Career oriented District, it was disappointing. The movie played, and Alex let his mind wander. He knew from Finnick's explanation, that technically Alex should only have three names in the Reaping. One for every year above the age of twelve. He in all honesty shouldn't have a chance in hell of being reaped.

The movie finished, and with it, the ridiculous glorification of the Hunger Games as something more than pointless murder.

"Now," the green woman said, "as per usual, ladies first."

The woman walked over the right hand bowl, and placed her hand in it, rummaging around. She drew out a slip of paper, and returned to the microphone and slowly opened the paper. The sudden increase in tension was palpable.

"Angel Whitehead."

A small mousy haired girl flinched, as everyone in the thirteen age section drew back from her, leaving her a clear pathway to the front. She walked up to the front of the stage and paused at the stares. Alex saw her swallow before striding up the stairs confidently. She stood on the side of the stage, her head straight and her eyes blank as she tried to appear unaffected.

The capitol woman spoke, "now do we have any volunteers?"

There was a sudden barrage of noise from the eighteen year old section as several people volunteered over each other.

The last to volunteer was tapped on the shoulder by a peacekeeper and guided to up to the stage. She stood their head straight held proudly, back straight and face blank, but Alex could see the hint of a grin on her face. Alex wondered what kind of person could stride excitedly to their death, he wondered if they were truly insane. Did they really think that they had a chance at winning?

The young blond woman strode confidently towards the stage, others stepping out of her way. She took the steps two at a time. The capitol woman congratulated the new Tribute and asked her name, "Brooke Marina," before returning to the microphone. "And now for the boys."

She strode over to the male Reaping ball and Alex tensed and swallowed nervously. The sense of dread that had been clinging to him for the last few days was a bitter taste in his mouth. His eyes flickered to catch Finnick's, and the man grimaced faintly before looking away. Alex was hurt, but understood. He and Finnick weren't close, but if his name was to be called out, then Finnick had to appear completely unaffected.

The woman returned to the microphone. Alex felt ill.

"Alex Odair."

Alex reacted like the super spy that he was, completely and utterly unaffected, as if that was exactly what he was expecting her to say.

His heart was pounding in his chest, but he scowled to himself, 'you knew that this would happen. You will never get the quiet life, now shut up and stop complaining.'

The capitol woman greeted him warmly at the base of the stage, before dragging him to the microphone.

"Odair, may I assume that you are the adopted son of Finnick Odair, the Hunger Games youngest victor?"

"You may," Alex answered with the snark that he used as his defensive weapon.

The capitol woman was wrong footed.

"Well then… Do we have any volunteers?"

There was silence.

'Come on,' Alex thought furiously, 'come on, where is the stupid guy. There's always a stupid guy.'

In all of Alex's experiences, there was always an idiot that gave away the game, and that was what he was praying for now.

His prayers were answered,

"I volunteer!"

BANG!

Alex shook his head in disgust and sighed internally as the gun went off, idiot.

The capitol woman coughed nervously, a flush of nervousness or stress played havoc with her green cheeks, "well then, if there are no volunteers, it seems that we have our Tributes."

"Shake hands," she hissed at the two newest sacrifices.

Alex and Brooke look at each other, before stepping forward and shaking hands. The older girl crushed his sweaty fingers and gave him a cruel smirk. Alex looked up into her face-she was more than a head taller than him- emotionlessly before letting just a hint of a smile work its way onto his features.

The girl frowned and released his hand, stepping back.

The woman grabbed their shoulders in a vice like grip, as if scared that they would run, and steered them into the building behind them.

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Alex sat in the chair, waiting patiently in the plush chair of the guest room in the Justice Hall. He didn't expect any visitors. Finnick would see him on the train in less than 10 minutes anyway. That was why he was so surprised when the door swung open to admit Annie Cresta.

"Annie, what are you doing here?"

She rolled her eyes at him, "I'm here to wish you luck of course, stupid."

He let out a choked laugh before sweeping her up in a crushing hug.

"I'll be back, don't worry," he told her

"I'm not worried, silly. After all, I've seen you fight. I know you will win."

Alex faked a smiled, thankful for her confidence in him.

"Of course I will, and I will see you back here in less than a month."

She smiled at him, gave him another hug, "good luck," she whispered before she darted through the door.

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The rage was fire in his veins. Never before had he truly been this furious. Even in the arena he'd kept his head, but this… this was too much. 'They should burn,' he thought furiously, fantasising about tearing Snow's limbs parts from his torso.

"Calm yourself, Finnick. You cannot help the boy in this state."

Finnick's spun around and glared at the elderly woman. He realised that she was right, and took a deep breath. He collapsed into the luxuriously plush lounge.

He shook his head and took another breath. The anger replaced in his chest by the passive acceptance that had allowed him to survive the treatment of the capitol for so long. A pained resignation tempered by determination. Even if Alex had little chance of surviving, Finnick would be damned if he didn't do everything in his power to help the teenager. It was the least the boy deserved.

So he stood and grabbed two glasses, pouring a generous amount of gin into each, handing one to Mags.

"What will be his angle?" he asked, determination giving him restless energy. He had to do something, anything, to help.

Mags pursed her lips, "I don't know him well enough to say. However, what I will say is that you can't allow yourself to be bias. This has to be about a win for District 4, not just Alex."

Finnick glared at her half-heartedly; he knew that it was true.

He sighed and nodded, "who will you take?"

"I'll take Alex; you're too involved with him to make an objective decision."

"Fine, but I will help you," Finnick declared.

"Finnick, you know that I got you home, what makes you think that I can't get Alex home too?"

The male victor frowned, "the only reason that I won was because I was smart and strong and they wanted me to win. You hardly did anything to help."

"That is where you are wrong, sweet. I guided you, subtly hinted in the approach that you should take for the interviews, put input into you costumes and gave you advice. Alex is strong. I wouldn't be surprised if he was smarter than you, he can win. Besides, I've heard from Annie Cresta that he can beat you with a trident."

Finnick snorted, "You know that there is more to these games than just fighting. He doesn't have the mental strength. He's already a screwed up teenager. This will destroy him."

Mags sighed and pursed her lips, "well then, we'll just have to get him out of the arena before he shatters, won't we?"

Finnick flashed her a sceptical look of wide eyed disbelief, "really?"

In Finnick presence, Alex had only shown skills wielding a trident. But as much skill as Finnick had in fighting, he had more in survival, and that was one aspect that he was sure that Alex would fail. In the Games, it was more important to be able to find water and food than to be able to kill a fellow victor. In the end someone who had a steady food supply would be stronger than somebody who couldn't hunt.

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The moment that Alex stepped onto the train, his expression became emotionless. No longer were his features marred by the fake smile that Alex had pandered to the capitol cameras with. The girl's face however, twisted into an ugly scowl. She stormed through the cabin. Alex followed, his footsteps light, hyper aware of his surroundings. It took Alex a second to realise he'd slipped into his spy mentality. He shrugged to himself, he was going to the capitol now; where everything said to him could be a double innuendo or a threat. Best, he thought, to be ready to dodge or duck, than unprepared and end up taking the bullet.

The two mentors were sitting on a ridiculously plush purple lounge when the two Tributes entered. Brooke collapsed into her seat as if she owned it scowling dangerously at Finnick, while Alex gentle settled himself on the edge of a dinning chair opposite the mentors.

Finnick looked at Alex as he sat down, a look of apology on his face. Alex caught his look and shrugged, giving the older man the ghost of a smile. Forgiveness.

The girl caught the byplay and glared harder at Finnick, "so what, you've already got your favourite? Of course, your son." She hissed, "Do you need a reality slap, he's fifteen and not even a Career, he's not going to survive the bloodbath. Stop wasting your effort of cannon fodder."

Finnick glared in return, the only difference being that his glare truly was a fearsome beast, "your impertinent comments will be ignored girl." He hissed with distain, "I'm your mentor, not his. I will be paying you more attention than him, but that doesn't necessarily mean that you have any more chance of survival."

She scowled.

Alex laughed. They both turned there glares on him, "what?"

"While I love the fact that you're defending my honour and all that Finnick, she's right. I'm not a Career, so while this conversation is touching, it is also pointless,' Alex explained calmly, "the only way I'm going to survive this is if everyone falls on their weapons. And in the end there are no winners of the Hunger Games, only survivors. 24 people go in and 24 people die. That's how it is."

Brooke shook her head, "I don't know what drugs you're on, but even you as stupid as you are should be able to tell that there is a victor, and why else would they bother with the Games?"

"I don't care. I won't live and neither will you."

The girl scowls, while Finnick looked crestfallen, "don't be negative, you could still win."

"You should pay attention to Brooke, Finnick, I'll have Mags to look after me."

Alex's eyes flickered to the aforementioned woman. His distaste would have to be tempered; he would need to learn how to get along with the woman if he wanted to survive the arena.

The girl smirked and the room settled into uncomfortable silence before Finnick stood a grabbed another glass of gin, "I've got to go talk to the driver."

The girl smirked at Alex before exiting the room in search of the capitol lady, so that she could be assigned her cabin.

Alex watched her go.

"That was cruel, smart but cruel," the old victor admitted.

Alex turned to her, "I hadn't realised you'd picked up on it," he said listlessly.

She shrugged, "I've been playing this game for a long time, but never before have I come across someone who plays it so well from the get go. Using Finnick to convince the girl that you were a soft target. Very subtle."

The question was blatant in her statement but he pretended not to notice.

"Truthfully I hadn't expected him to give up so easily."

"I'm under the impression that he thinks that you have a plan," Alex's new mentor stated.

"You will help me?"

"Truthfully, I don't think that you need all that much help. I've seen you with a blade, you're better than most Careers. You're sharper than perhaps any other person I've met under the age of 30. All you need to do now is to learn survival skills and how to woo sponsors. I don't see that being an issue though; it seems that like Finnick, you've been gifted with natural beauty. "

Alex blushed slightly, "thanks, I think."

The old victor snorted, "Not a compliment."

Alex's eyes flickered to meet hers. His gaze was dead serious, calculating, and cold as he processed her words, before realisation sparkled. He nodded emotionlessly.

She smiled faintly, "yes, very smart indeed. If I didn't already know that Finnick hadn't told a soul, I'd be sure that you already knew."

Alex tilted his head, a cold smirk gracing his lips, "as you said, I'm smart. Finnick isn't as subtly as he'd like to think."

She laughed, genuinely, "I think I'll actually like you boy," she admitted.

He gifted her with a rare genuine smile in return. Yes, he thought, while she was perceptive, he could play this game too.

He tilted his head, 'yes,' he thought, 'I can work with her.'

"Before I enter the arena I will need to appear weak, but after, when I'm actually in the arena, I will need to appear sadistic, but only at the right time and for the right reason. So sadistic that if I do get out, nobody will want to touch me with a ten foot pole. I need Brutus to appear like a little boy with a petty grudge."

Mags tilted her head, "the price of freedom is one too heavy for most to pay. Are you willing to pay with you humanity?"

Alex's lips twitched in a humourless smile, his mind flickering back to all of the people that he had killed, 'for Queen and Country', "I lost my humanity a long time before this."

Mags stared at Alex, calculating. She nodded, "I will help you, but be careful that the Capitol doesn't put you down like a rabid dog."

Alex didn't answer, instead he reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver chain, attached to which was a beautifully carved dolphin made out of a shiny metal.

"Could you give this to Finnick to give to Brooke?"

Mags nodded, a question on her lips, but Alex cut her off before she had a chance to speak.

"Tell her it's her token, a gift from an old lady. A good luck charm if you will. But whatever you do, don't mention that it's from me."

Mags tilted her head, but reached out and took the gift, "is this part of your game plan?"

Alex grimaced but nodded.

Mags nodded her head slowly, "you can count on me."

Alex smiled, "thank you."

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That night before dinner they watched the re-cap of the Reaping. The Tributes from 1 and 2 were stereotypical volunteers; all brawn, no brain. The only one that seemed to be particularly switched on was the male from 2 who hesitated before volunteering, obviously not keen of sacrificing his life. His eyes darted nervously, on edge. The boy's name was Callum Rover and he was 18.

The female from Three was a willowy figure, tall, skinny and dark skinned which stood out starkly with her District partners blond hair and blue eyes, she reminded him of Mrs Jones with her complexion. Her name was Angela, they were both eighteen.

They watched their own Reaping, Brooke making fun of Alex for his lack of expression. Alex Ignored her.

Five was interesting, the female especially seemed smart. She was wiry but strong, and she moved gracefully. Her name was Gabriela Long.

The male from 6 was victor material, tightly leashed violence swirling mere millimetres below the surface of that pretty, symmetrical face. From the shifty movements of Finnick, he wasn't the only one who sensed it. Alex threw the Victor a knowing look, and the man looked away.

The others were nothing special and Alex relaxed, analysing the greatest threat to his survival. He ignored the rest of the re-cap, until it came to the last Reaping. The boy from 12. His skin was an olive complexion, his eyes a stormy grey. He was skinny, pitifully so, but there was a look in his eyes.

"He's a survivor, that one," Alex commented.

The girl snorted in disbelief, but Finnick nodded.

"You've got a sharp eyes there Alex," Finnick complimented.

Alex hummed to himself quietly.

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After dinner, Alex retired to bed early. He ran through 4 set of Katas before having a shower in the massive bathroom. He hoped that the strenuous activity would allow him to sleep well, however it only gave him a few hours respite and he woke screaming sometime near four am. He scrambled from his bed and from his dreams to run through another two sets of kata before showering and heading to a very early breakfast at 5:00 am.

He spent two hours at the table, reading as he slowly ate. The book was as boring as hell, propaganda in the disguise of a history book. An interesting study of brain washing and mob phycology but not particularly educational. Alex heard Finnick entered the room around seven, but didn't remove himself from his book or his breakfast. Finnick leaned over and grabbed the yogurt and some fruit. Neither of them spoke.

Half an hour later, Bella, the capitol lady that he'd been told the name of the previous day, entered followed shortly after by Brooke and Mags.

Brooke smirked at him as soon as she entered the room, "here's the wimp. Did you hear him screaming all of last night? Wuss."

Alex looks up slowly, raising an eyebrow sardonically, "oh, are you talking to me? Well dear," his tone took a patronising edge, "perhaps I just have more to scream about than you. Pampered Princess." His smile could cut diamond.

She blushed in shame, before firing back, "as if you could have anything to scream about, what with the massive house you live in and the fact that you don't have to worry about food or Career training."

His smiled twisted sharply, eyes dark and promising, but he made no move to break the silence. Bella cleared her throat nervously, "now, now, no fighting."

"Yes," agreed Finnick absentmindedly as he ate his peach, "plenty of time for that in the arena."

The girl scowled at her plate but said nothing. Alex's eyes danced with dangerous mirth.

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By around 9:30 the capitol was in sight. Alex switched his spy face off, and smiled genuinely at the crowd, waving. The cheering increased two decibels. The girl scowled at him, before grinning at the crowd and throwing out kisses.

They are escorted into the Tribute centre and spend the rest of the day getting to know the rooms. That evening they are escorted to their stylists. Alex is uncomfortable surrounded by twittering idiots, but he does his best to resign himself to their ministrations. He allows them to rip out his leg hair with little complaint, but after the third mud bath he has had enough, "are you almost done?" he asks calmly.

"No, no, not yet my dear, we haven't even started with your eyebrows, or your hair," the young girl with orange hair twittered.

Alex ground his teeth but said nothing, even as they began removing his eyebrow hair.

By the time he'd escaped their ministrations he was as irritable as a male grizzle in the mating season. So when the stylist finally arrived, he didn't try to be polite.

He was silent and sullen.

The woman had natural red hair, freckles and sparkling green eyes, she seemed overly amused by his irritability, but didn't try hard to initiate conversation. She handed over a costume of shimmering fish scales, running from the left shoulder to just below his right hip. Three hands widths wide, barely covering his privates. He looked at it in disgust, his eyes flicking to her. She gave him a toothy grin.

The stylist informed her assistance that his skin was to have a non-permanent dye of light blue. Streaks were to be added to his hair, both light blue and teal. When he questioned whether blue and teal were the same colour, they all laughed at him and informed him that, no, they were not. By the time the stylists were finished with him, he looked at himself in the mirror and grimaced in disgust.

His stylist guided him down to his chariot, and as he passed Finnick he glared furiously at the older man, who proceeded to burst out laughing. He schooled his expression into passive acceptance as he met with Brooke at the chariot; she was no better off than him. She took one look at him and scowled, turning away. He rolled his eyes, deeply amused by her antics.

He observed the other Tributes.

The Tributes from One and Two were as large as they seemed on the television. The costumes for District one were gaudy, obviously to accentuate the fact that their Districts made luxury items. Two's costumes were suits with stone patterns stitched into the cloth work. District Three wore what seemed to be LED lighting strips on the seams of their clothing. District 5 wore the ugly costume of the power station worker, complete with safety hats, but at least they weren't all that revealing. Alex was really starting to hate his stylist. Then he saw the District Twelve Tributes, and he had to turn away to stop himself laughing, and thanked God that he hadn't had their stylist, he might just have ended up making his 'first' kill before the Games had even officially begun. They were completely naked, covered in coal dust.

Brooke noticed them as well and snickered quietly behind her hand. Alex just shook his head. They stood there, awkwardly, refusing to talk to each other, but refusing to talk to anyone else either.

Bella saved them from the awkwardness by ushering them into their chariot, giving them sound advice on how to respond to the crowd.

The crowd cheered and yelled, Alex smiled and waved. It was a long way to the presidential building, and by the time they reached it, Alex's wrist felt loose and his arm ached from all of the waving, and his face hurt from smiling.

Then they were off. They were fourth in line, and so when the chariot line up in front of President Snow, Alex's chariot was situated beside number the District Two chariot.

Alex could see the president standing on the balcony. He heard the man speak about the need for sacrifice, the need to create order and balance. All that Alex could think as he watched the man speak was, 'is this man truly any different to the megalomaniacal psychopaths that I have killed previously?' in that instant, Alex knew that if he survived these Games, he would fight until that man was dead and his society destroyed.

Massive applause rose from the capitol crowd as the man finished speaking. The chariots rolled away, the horses so well trained that they didn't need to be told where to go as they entered the training centre building. The pulled to stop, and Bella ran over, gushing, "Oh, my God, that was brilliant, you should have seen yourselves."

Finnick followed at more of a sedate pace, assisting Mags.

"That was great you two, I've already go sponsors on the line," he congratulated.

Mags nodded in agreement.

Brooke scowled at Finnick, before she stomped to the elevator. Alex laughed as he saw her throw nasty glances at the District 3 Tributes and Mentors that joined her in the lift.

Bella tutted and muttered quietly under her breath.

Alex rolled his eyes, "you'd think that she'd be happy that I'm not a threat to her chances at winning, but it just seems to make her nastier." He observed that Finnick tensed at his statement.

Mags barked with laughter, "She's always been like that. One boy thought that he truly saw the small sad little girl in Brooke, and he tried to befriend her. He ended up with a knife to his balls."

Alex flinched at that.

"Ouch."

Bella let out a high pitched giggle at Alex's theatrics.


	5. Chapter 5

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They grabbed the next elevator. The music was some soft jazz, meant to be soothing, but Alex just found it infuriating. Once they reached their level Alex headed straight for his rooms. He did several sets of Kata to unwind, only realising just how tense he was once he was out of the eyes of the Capitol. Hopefully the strenuous activity before sleep would tire Alex's body out as much as his mind. He washed in the frighteningly intimidating bathroom with the showers, mirror and floors many settings. The bed was too soft. The pillows were too fine a thread count and far too plush. He was wired, sleeping in a new place, knowing that only one floor below him were people who wouldn't hesitate to kill him. Who in a few days, would be given just that opportunity.

He fell into an uneasy sleep at around three in the morning. Awoken just four hours later by the harsh banging of a fist against a door.

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That night while the two new District 4 tributes were in their rooms, Finnick escaped the pressure of the District rooms in favour of the training centre bar. In search of his own form of relaxation. He was strung tighter than a bow, ready to fly off the handle at any moment. He needed to get smashed and forget that in a few days one of his friends would be murdered. That he would have to welcome the winner of these games into the folds of Victor-hood regardless of personal feelings.

He strode through the parlour and spotted Haymitch at his usual place at the bar, a golden coloured beverage sitting in front of him. As Finnick reached Haymitch's side, the drunk slid ungracefully off of his stool, and slurred aggressively, "Hey Pretty boy, what's a face like that doing in a place like this?"

Finnnick shook his head with a longsuffering sigh, his long-time friend always drank more when confronted with his responsibilities as a Mentor. Finnick was only to use to Haymitch's attitude, but often wondered why he had bothered to befriend the Twelve Mentor.

He pushed the drunk back into his seat and slid onto a bar stool next to Haymitch. Finnick drank steadily, thankful that all drinks at this particular bar were free, courtesy of the President.

The alcohol stung his throat and made his eyes water, but he swallowed the glass straight. Finnick was unused to drinking the stronger beverages available. Haymitch spoke slowly in comprehensible sentences.

"I'm sorry to hear about you son. Didn't even know you had one. Looks a bit old to be yours…"

Finnick shrugged, "he isn't mine. I found him washed up on a beach a few months ago and gave him a roof over his head. I adopted him because otherwise the peacekeepers would have just shoved him in a community home. Nice kid, more like a younger brother than anything."

Haymitch nodded, "don't suppose you taught him anything?"

"To survive you mean? kind of. He has lots of really bad nightmares, and I'm talking worse than mine and worse than any other Victor I've met. I took him down to the training centre one night to distract him. After that, he slipped out during the middle of the night quite often. Spent at least four hours a night there. I suppose he could have a chance, but I'm not sure I want him to win."

Haymitch stared at him calculatingly, his bloodshot eyes steady for a moment, "who can they use against him? You're too valuable to threaten, does he know anybody else?"

Finnick tilted his head, thinking hard, "Well, he's made a few friends on the docks and trawlers, but the only close friend he had got killed a few weeks ago. So no, I don't suppose he does. Alex always seemed a little cold to me, even when I tried to warm to him."

"Well then, if he wins, what's he got to lose? As long as he's no pushover, and not more desirable than you, he should be safe."

"Yeah, I suppose."

"His friend. How'd he die?"

Finnick was silent for a few moments and Haymitch assumed that he was uncomfortable about the subject, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, I didn't mean to intrude. I think it must be the drink."

Finnick shook his head, "no, no, its fine I was just thinking."

"What about?"

"Alex's response to Pikes death."

"What did he have a massive breakdown or something?" Haymitch inquired vividly recalling his own breakdown after his family had been murdered. He took another deep swig, allowing the potent alcohol to muddle his memory in the hopes of forgetting the way his girl's face had been smash in.

"Or something. He didn't react at all; apparently he was standing right beside him when it happened. One of the pulleys failed and cut right through him, blood everywhere, and yet Alex was the one that snapped the captain out of his daze."

Haymitch hummed to himself quietly, "Shock?"

Finnnick shook his head, "no, I've seen people when they're in shock after somebody dies; we all have in the games. None of them reacted the way Alex did. People said he just walked through the town covered from head to toe in blood. I found him sitting at the kitchen table eating, totally relaxed and obviously just out of the shower. How can a kid whose closest run in with death being the Hunger Games, act like that? I mean he was behaving like a jaded victor not the teenager that he is."

"Maybe the reason for his nightmares, hmm? He's got a good chance of winning if he can keep his head when people are dying around him," Haymitch suggested.

"Yeah, maybe. It would explain all the nightmares, but he won't talk to me or anyone else."

"Give him time," Haymitch suggested.

"He doesn't have any," Finnick said darkly.

Haymitch shrugged and took a swig of the white liquor, "well, then, pretty boy, don't ask me if you don't want my advice."

Finnick shook his head and sighed. He gulped down the last of his drink before standing to head back to his room when Haymitch said bitterly, "he's got a better chance of winning than my tributes so you shouldn't count him out."

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"Up! Up! Get up!" Bella called through his door, bashing on the thick wooden frame.

Alex groaned, dragging himself out of bed.

He met Finnick at the breakfast table before any of the women had reached the dining cabin.

He grinned at Finnick, "no nightmares, what about you?"

Finnick snorted and shook his head, "wish I were so luck."

He looked at Alex for a second, before saying, "you should talk to Mags about your nightmares. They could give away your position and allow someone to ambush you. It could be the difference between life and death."

Alex nodded, understanding the validity of his statement but having no such intentions, "I'll talk to her later today," he said as he grabbed a plate full of fruit and a hot chocolate. The point was redundant though. He was well aware that when he was in a high stress environment he didn't have nightmares.

"That stuff's really sweet," Finnick warned, "It's called hot chocolate."

Alex hummed in acknowledgment, recognizing it from home. He took a slow sip of the rich drink.

"Hmm," he sighed, eyes closed as he absorbed the familiar flavour of the chocolate.

They ate in silence, as they waited for the girls to arrive.

Brooke stumbled through the doorway first, glaring at the two males indiscriminately as she grabbed a bowl of muesli for breakfast.

A few minutes later Bella and Mags entered through the same doorway, talking to each other too quietly to be heard.

By the time everyone had finished breakfast, Alex and Brooke were restless. It would be the first day of official training, and they were both eager to begin learning what they would need to know to survive.

"OK," Finnick began, "Brooke I want you to get your hands on every unfamiliar weapon, and perfect techniques that you already have. You might end up in the arena with nothing but a knife, so you need to be partially proficient in every weapon."

Finnick turned to Mags for her advice for Alex, "you're best bet is to outlast the others, survival will be the key, but chose one weapon and try to learn the basics at least."

Finnick nodded, "you're partially proficient with a trident, so perhaps when you show the game makers your skills, pick that as your demonstrator. If they know that you're good with a weapon they'll most likely make sure there's one in the games." He grinned humourlessly, "Makes it more entertaining that way."

Alex nodded, but Brooke laughed derisively, "you'll be the shame to District 4 for decades to come, 'survival is your key,' disgusting."

Alex turned his emotionless eyes on her, boring into her soul. He said nothing, but enjoyed how obviously unnerved she was by his steady gaze.

Brooke left earlier than Alex, heading down to the training area guided by an Avox. Alex waited a few minutes before heading down himself, he didn't want to risk meeting Brooke unchaperoned, she was predictable, and that was why he was always on edge around her. She wanted to beat him within an inch of his life, and she knew that he knew it. He was fairly sure that, against the rules or not, she would attack him if she came across him unaccompanied. So he did his very best to avoid her. For somebody trained in the art of being disregarded, it was hardly a challenge.

A dark skinned young woman was the overseer of the Training Room. She gave sound advice. Survival first, killing second.

Alex spent the whole of the first day digesting information on edible foods and making snares and fires. Most of the information was the same as the survival training he'd done in the SAS, with some unusual additions. The book that was at the station suggested eggs as a good source of protein, but warned against stealing from a guarded Mockingjay nests. Alex didn't know what a Mockingjay was. The book warned the reader to stay as far away as possible to TrackerJacker nests, and gave a brief description of the effects their venom had as well as a plant that would alleviate the pain and hallucinations. Alex made certain that he knew what the plant was and where to find it, what it looked and where to find it. Alex saw too much potential in the TrackerJacker venom for use in enhanced interrogation scenes that he was all too familiar with. He could almost feel the stifling heat of the Egyptian sun; could almost feel the restraints against his arms and Julius' mocking tone in his ear.

The second day Alex built on his SAS training and spent the day relearning how to find water, what plants contained water and what land forms would have the most chance of producing water. When Alex felt confident that he could survive, he wanted to move on to weapons but he feared being seen as too proficient and therefore a threat. He didn't yet know what his game plan was going to be. Best to remain unnoticed until he figured out a fool proof strategy. Admittedly, strategy wasn't his strong point. He was more a, "oh dear, it's all gone to hell. Oh well." Kind of guy. He worked best through improvisation and spilt second decisions. But he was well aware of what kind of game these were. Strategy was a key element and never to be overlooked.

So he ran through survival skills repeatedly, until he could light a fire in ten seconds flat; until tying snares became second nature. He re-read the book on edible foods three times. He memorized it from cover to cover.

He watched the others train, noting their strengths and weaknesses. The girl from Five was quick on her feet and brighter than an LED light bulb. The Boy from Three was just plain smart, and Alex remembered what Finnick had said about Beetee. He was far more cautious when dealing with cunning than strength. He knew only too well how to overpower brute strength with well applied intellect. He therefore saw them as a larger potential threat than the more menacing tributes.

Both boys from One and Two are large and strong. The boy from One was verging on 6 foot 4 inches, more than 25 cm taller than Alex. The boy from one was good with an axe and had the forearms for it. The boy from two however, was truly talented with a bladed weapon whether that be a sword, a dagger or a throwing star. But the one thing that stood out to Alex like a flashing beacon was that their styles were untested and untried. To flashy to be efficient, leaving their bodies wide open to a quick but lethal attack. He could tell just from watching that those from the Career Districts relied more on a pack mentality than on individual cunning or skill.

The boy from twelve, Timothy Hall was a great climber and quick on his toes, but all skin and bones. He reminded Alex of the children he'd observed while in Africa for that very brief period between being set on fire and returning home to London. If Timothy avoided the bloodbath, he could do quite well. The girl from twelve was next to useless; the only thing that she excelled in was the edible foods test, which she passed without blinking an eye. More, Alex sensed, from necessity than any talent at recalling information.

On the second last day of training he was approached by Brooke. She had made a place for herself amongst the other Careers. She mocked him along with the others, their pack mentality coming in to play. Most of those from other districts seemed to take their ques from the Careers, though whether that was due to fear or a twisted desire to fit in, Alex didn't know. The only ones who didn't tease or mock him were the district 12's. They pitied him to some extent. Alex used his small stature and wiry frame to its best abilities, appearing down trodden and resigned. Even District Twelves reality didn't have anything on his acting. Whenever the nasty comments got under his skin, he always thought to himself, 'this will give me an extra ten seconds, the difference between life and death.' And then he would mock them in his head, 'are you really so stupid that you haven't noticed? Can't you tell I'm hiding something? When I tense do you infer that as an urge to flee rather than an urge to bash your brains in?'

But they didn't notice and so when Brooke approached him, it was with a confident, mocking smirk.

"Hello weakling."

"What do you want, bitch?"

"Now, now, I'm only going to offer this to you once, after all. So play nice." She said mockingly, Alex sighed aggravated, "what?"

"As much as I hate you, you're Four, so whether I like it or not, to some extent we have to have each other's backs. I'm offering you an in with the Careers."

Alex raised an eyebrow, "you think that I need help from you and your gang of half trained baboons? No, I don't think so," he smirked.

She flushed red in anger, "you'll regret that weakling," she hissed threateningly.

Alex raised an eyebrow, but turned his back to her. She actually growled at that before storming away. Alex wondered at her immaturity.

Later that afternoon Alex stepped into the lift from the training level and pressed number four on the panel. The lift stopped at level two on the way up. Brooke looked surprised when she saw him. She'd been talking to the female Two tribute, but when she saw him, she smirked cruelly.

She turns to the girl, "goodbye, I'll talk to you tomorrow afternoon," she said, subtly nodding her head at Alex.

Alex sighed and looked down, leaning against the back of the lift, making himself as small as possible while also attempting to look casual about it.

The other girl's smile could have cut diamond, "Have fun," she teased.

Brooke stepped into the lift, her lips twitched upwards in recognition to the girl's teasing comment. Alex gulped audible as the doors slid shut.

There was a second of silence and stillness, before Brooke lent over and slammed her hand onto the 'stop elevator' button. In the split second it took her to do that, Alex had moved. He straightened and stepped away from the wall settling into a subtle fighting stance.

She glared at him, "do you know how much I hate you? Your cocky attitude, your rude remarks and your blatant disregard for other people's consideration? Do you even know what I had to do to get you a spot with the Careers? It wasn't about a win for me. It was about our District. Its been four years since Finnick won, we'll become the laughing stock of the careers if we don't get another sooner or later. You're from Four and that meant something. But now I couldn't care less. You turn me down. Now you're going to pay."

Her fist drove forward, but he ducked. He pivoted on his right foot so that he was standing to the left of her, and released a jab that was aimed unerringly at the shoulder joint. His fist hit pliable flesh, and her left shoulder popped out with a scream. She pushed herself backwards, against the opposite wall, slowly stifling her scream until it was only an agonized moan. Her right hand cupped her left shoulder, trying to alleviate the pain. He stepped towards her, driving his heel into the arch of her foot, she doubled over with a moan. He gave her solar plexus a light jab, and grabbed her foot as she tried a clumsy right footed kick in the confined quarters. He twisted her ankle and forced her to twist around, away from him. He pushed her ankle to her thigh, holding the angle of twist and leant over to whisper in her ear, "How long did that take, hmm? 30 seconds? I could have killed you with a single punch, but I didn't. Do you really think that you have a chance against me in the arena?"

She moaned in pain as he tightened his grip, "don't attack me again, don't irritate me, don't tell the other Careers about my skill set and I'll leave you alone until we're in the arena. But attempt to hurt me and you will die, is that clear?"

"You can't kill me," she hissed out between clenched teeth, "they'll punish you."

"Is this not punishment already?"

She whimpered quietly, his hand tightened on her ankle and he pressed his shoulder into the middle of her back.

"OK, OK, I promise."

"Good girl," he whispered in her ear, mockingly, a dark threat dancing in his tone.

He released her and retreated quickly to his side of the elevator, slamming the 'resume elevator' button as he went.

She didn't move from the floor until he dragged her up, popping her shoulder back in without warning. She cried out quietly, but made no attempt to attack him again.

She turned around to face him, standing on her left foot. She eyed him wearily as he smirked at her grimly. He knew that she would be re-thinking her action plan now. She'd just ferreted out a legitimate threat after all. She didn't meet his eyes as she entered the foyer of level four. She dodged passed the lounge room to her own room. Finnick, who'd been sitting on the couch watching a re-cap and typing on an electronic pad, looked up as she passed. When he saw her expression and her limp his eyes flickered questioningly to Alex's.

He just shrugged and followed her example. He spent that afternoon running through Katas in a meditative trance. By the time he'd reached the eighth Kata, Bella banged on the door and informed him that dinner was served. Sweaty and running high off adrenaline, he headed down for Dinner.

Dinner was a quiet affair, Finnick and Mags sensed the tension in the room and Brooke was still too busy trying to calculate her chances of survival with another player in the ring. Alex didn't feel particularly talkative.

That night after dinner, Mags approached him, "you should try just once with a trident, to show the careers that you're not hiding anything. Try to be mediocre at best."

Alex nodded, but informed her of the incident that afternoon, "in the elevator, Brooke attacked me, I defended myself and made it clear that if she did so again that she would be dealt with, however what worries me is that she could tell the other Careers."

Dealt with?" she muttered questioningly under her breath. Alex had to strain her ears to hear her comment, before Mags spoke up, "she had loyalty to Four not to the Careers, I don't think she will talk."

Alex nodded his head, "I hope not."

"Don't lose your temper again, even if it means taking a beating."

Alex nodded silently with a grimace. Oh, he knew how to take a beating.

They went their separate ways.

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Training was the same, and the same, and more of the same. He noticed that Brooke ceased conversing with the other careers, and occasionally he saw her whispering to other tributes from the outer districts. On the last day Alex threw around a trident, but didn't try too hard. He made sure to hit the target every third throw. To the left, then to the right and then dead on, middle of the chest. Alex was bored; throwing the same weapon over and over was nowhere near as fun as tying knots or memorizing books. He did like physical activity, but this was a far too monotonous for his tastes. He'd much prefer to be running through Katas in the privacy of his own rooms rather than be unsubtly laughed at as he threw the trident.

The woman that ran the training area called for halt, and informed them of how the testing would be run. Running from district One to Twelve, girls first then followed by the boy from the same district.

Alex waited, nervously tapping his feet as he listened to the murmur around him. From his silence observations of the other tributes, he sensed another alliance forming. He was fairly sure that it was between District 10, 8, 7 and 3. They could almost be a stronger pack than the Careers. They definitely would be bigger. Eight to the Career's six.

"Female, District 4," the speaker called out. Alex's eyes flickered up to watch as Brooke frozen, before taking a deep breath and standing. She strode through the doors and out of view. 10 minutes later, "Male, District 4."

Alex stood and passed through the doors to the training area.

He stood there and watched as the Capitol Gamemakers drank and laughed. Alex felt furious, how dare they scorn the tributes like this when they were all about to lose their lives. Alex stood, he waited, he didn't called the Gamemakers attention, simply watched them as they partied.

His silent observations didn't go unnoticed. A young man stood, leaning against a pillar as he watched in silent amusement.

This one, this one he could work with, the observer thought. That silent tightly leashed fury hidden beneath the mask of calm acceptance that the teenager displayed. That handsome face was blank, emotionless. Yes, he wouldn't be surprised at all if this boy was crowned victor.

2 minutes passed, and then 4 and then 8. The gong was struck by the Avox and the Gamemakers startled, turning around they realised that they had missed assessing somebody as they saw a lithe body dart through the double doors at the other end of the room.

"Who was it we were judging?" asked the Head Gamemaker.

"The male from 4," one man said, consulting his sheaf of paper.

"Hmm," the head Gamemaker considered, "well I've seen him, he's nothing special, let's give him a four. What do you think?"

There was a chorus of agreement. A four for the boy who did nothing. A four for the boy from Four..

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"Did you do well?" asked Finnick as they sat around the TV waiting for the scores to be announced.

"Yes," Brooke said.

"I don't know," Alex said truthfully.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Mags inquired.

"Well I stood there for ten minutes waiting for them to acknowledge me; they didn't so when the gong went I left." Alex explained.

Mags guffawed.

Finnick turned on her, "it's not funny, and this could mean that Alex doesn't get any score at all."

Mags rolled her eyes at her 'adopted' son, "the boy wouldn't have gotten a good score anyway, and this way at least we get a laugh."

Alex was laughing too, and when Finnick turned his glare on him he only laughed harder. Even Brooke was smiling slightly.

The scores were announced. Both tributes from One got 9's. The girl from Two received an 8 and the boy received a ten. The skinny dark skinned girl from Three that reminded him of Mrs Jones got a 6, while her blond partner got a 8. Brooke got a 9, and both Finnick and Mags leapt to congratulate her.

"District Four, Male. Four."

There was an awkward silence before Finnick congratulated him insincerely, "not bad for doing nothing, hey?"

There were nods of agreement. The other districts got mediocre scores; the boy from 12 got a 7 which for twelve was very high. The girl received a 5, the second lowest score in the Games so a far.

Alex stayed up that night to celebrate his inferior score. When he told Finnick that was the exact reason why he was celebrating, Finnick stared blankly at him, before nodding. While Finnick hadn't really had much use for his score in the Arena after showcasing his skills and good looks at the cornucopia, he understood that others used their scores to give them a foot up. He didn't really understand what game Alex was playing. But he respected the boy enough to play along.

They talked late into the night, and Finnick and Alex actually spent quality time together for the first time since they had entered the capitol.

When Alex when to bed, he hit the pillow only seconds before he was asleep, not even bothering to change his clothes.

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The interview preparation was tedious. The cleaning and scrubbing. The eyebrow plucking, again. If Alex didn't know better, he'd say it was the Capitols version of torture. See how long until they squirm and then use that to judge how long they'll be able to survive with a knife in the chest.

When they had forced him to strip down his scars had gotten a few odd looks. One of the girls stared at them for several seconds before asking, "How'd you get those?"

Her gaze was on his bullet wound so he made some cock and bull story about a boating accident. It was sad how easily they swallowed the falsehood. They were just so naïve. The only one who doubted him turned out to be his stylist. She'd raised an eyebrow at the wound that would have killed an ordinary man and shrugged.

The suit that the team made him wear was dark blue with a teal neck sash. Not nearly as showy as the costume that he'd been forced to wear for the opening ceremony. Brooke was dressed in a long elegant ball gown like dress. Earlier that day, Alex had conversed with Mags about his approach to this interview, and so as to keep up his consistent behaviour of less than average, he was to play the shy meek boy. He hated this, but he was good at it. Acting, tricking, deceit. Anything that could be used in spying, beaten into him from before he could walk. How to lie, how to cheat, how to steal. Alex supposed that he should go back in time and thank Ian. But he wouldn't. He hated that old man almost as much as he hated Blunt. However, it would serve him well tonight.

The boy from One played the part of a typical aggressive, cold career tribute. The girl a giggling sweet-heart. The boy from two played the cold blooded killer, while his district partner played the sexy heart-throb. The Three's were mediocre, trying too hard for the cameras and rather hopeless; Naïve. Brooke took the stage with elegant sweeps, she played the proper capitol lady that had a taste for blood, and Alex had to Applaud Finnick ingenuity. Allow the crowd to relate to her, and add a touch of what makes the hunger games, the hunger games.

It was Alex's turn.

He bit his lip, took a step up the stairs to where he could see Ceasar Flickerman standing. He was deafened by the noise of the crowd as he took the stage. He could see some in the crowd laughing, and he tripped over his feet. He came up blushing; he had purposely held his breath to turn his face red. Now they would remember him, the joke, and the klutz. Good.

He stuttered through his interview, trying hard to make it seems as if he was trying to come across as brave, but failing miserable. He left the stage to booing and yelled insults, and he smirked.

The other tributes sneered at him as he joined them on the other side of the stage. He looked down, as if in shame, and held his breath. His face turned progressively redder and his body was starved of oxygen. Good.

When he was sure that the cameras had moved on to the next tribute he released his breath, and cleared away his look of shame, swapping it for a down trodden appearance.

They finished, Finnick yelled at both Mags and Alex that night. Telling Mags that she was a horrible mentor that hadn't even given Alex an angle, telling Alex he was a fool for not asking Finnick for help. Alex snapped, "Shut up!"

Finnick was so shocked that Alex would yell at him that he did just that.

"Don't you think it's possible that this is the angle that I'm playing? The weak defenceless kid would is no more a threat than a bullseye. They will overlook me this way, it's easier. Until we get in the arena it won't even occur that I'm a threat. It will give me a few extra seconds when they hesitate, because why bother a swift kill for a meek little kid like me when you can draw it out?"

Alex realised that that was perhaps not the best thing to have said and promptly shut his mouth.

"You would prefer to be tortured to death than to die quickly?" the young victor asked.

"if there was more of a chance that I would survive, then yes. If there's one thing that I know about people that torture others, its that they often give their victims a window of opportunity, however slight. They use it so that they can crush their victims hope, but I will be able to use it to escape. I'm smart like that." A sarcastic bite to his voice.

Finnick frowned at Alex, worry plastered over his face, "you speak as if from experience."

Alex grimace, unsure of what to tell, "yes, well, lucky me, I remembered something more from my past life."

That's the best he could do, weak, but it'd have to do.

Finnick bit his bottom lip before turning on his heels and leaving.

Alex turned and stared blankly at Mags who returned the look.

"You're a horrible liar."

"I'm not, I just don't want to tell Finnick the full story, and I don't want to go back to where I came from. I'd rather go into the Hunger Games. If I die then it'll most likely be fairly quick. Where I come from, I could end up being tortured to death over the period of months."

Mags sighed compassionately, "I won't say anything. You have my word."

"Thankyou."

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	6. Chapter 6

That night, Alex didn't sleep. Anxiety gnawed at his belly, making him feel physically ill. He pulled himself from his restless sleep several times during the night. Forcing himself to head to the kitchenette and sip cool water from the faucet to calm his stomach and ensure maximum hydration for the days to come. By the time the sun had risen high enough to shine through the training room window, Alex felt exhausted both emotionally and mentally. Around and around, the overwhelming sensation of helplessness swum, eating and twisting his intestines. He felt like screaming, he felt like crying.

But No. Crying wouldn't help. _Focus Alex_.

Bella was the first to rise, enduring in her optimism, she greeted Alex with a smile. Finnick was the next to rise, stumbling out of his room as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. He grunted in greeting as Alex served himself and his 'father' a plate of French toast. Except it wasn't French toast. French people didn't exist. All dead probably. No. _Focus Alex_.

Brooke and Mags joined the shortly after, as Alex mechanically shoveled his third helping of bacon into his mouth.

It was a silent affair. Brooke was pale, but her hand shook only slightly as she reached for the fruit salad. She too ate as much as she could.

"Good luck both of you," Finnick said after they had all finished eating, wanting to say more, but unable. There wasn't really anything to say.

Alex didn't respond. Around and around it swum, twisting and twisting like a blade of glass.

Brooke shrugged.

An Avox stepped forward as Mags and Finnick walked them towards the elevator. An escort to the hovercraft.

The engines were already roaring, the turbines so loud that Alex couldn't hear himself think. It pulled him into the moment. He was here now. From now on, a single lapse of judgement would mean a violent, painful and bloody death. _Focus Alex_.

The Avox guided them onto the hovercraft, and Alex sat with the blonde haired male from Three to his right and Brooke to his left as a young woman grabbed his arm and inserted the tracker. A second of pain, but the adrenaline was already making it fade. The exhaustion that had plagued Alex since before he'd even entered this cursed time, slipping away. His eyesight sharpening, his hearing picking up on the sound of the cavitation of the turbine blades.

He turned to his left. Brooke sat, clenching the brace support with white knuckles, her eyes facing forward.

An unreadable expression ghosted across Alex's face.

"Do you have a token from back home?" Alex asked quietly.

Brooke glared defensively at him, "why are you talking to me?"

Alex shrugged with a wry smile, "I'm nervous."

Brooke narrowed her eyes suspiciously, before reached up and pulling out a chain from around her neck. A beautiful pale gold dolphin was hanging as a pendant from the silver chain. He smiled, "that's beautiful."

"Don't you have a token?" she asked.

"I think that my stylist may have it. I hope she has a chance to give it to me before…"

Brooke's eyes flickered away for a moment, something dark and promising hiding in her gaze, "I'm sure that she will."

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Alex stood by the pedestal. His lips were narrowed, pressed together so hard that they were white around the edges. His pupils were dilated and his heart felt as if it was trying to force his rib cage open. His bullet wound throbbed.

He wasn't use to this; the waiting. In all of his previous missions there was hardly any time to dread. Only when he was trapped, would he have been given a chance to dwell on thoughts of his fate. But he'd always spent that time plotting, devising escape plans with single minded determination in an effort to distract from the sheer terror that came with being at somebody else's mercy.

Unfortunately, Alex knew that there was no escaping this fate. The pragmatist in him knew that by the time he left the arena he'd either be dead, or have become familiar with that greasy feeling of fresh blood on skin.

_Focus Alex_. Here now. No time for anything else. Survival. Only survival.

"30 seconds," a voice rang out across the room, mechanical and impersonal. A recording.

A slight tremor ran through his frame as he took a deep breath. The peacekeeper that was standing guarding the door stepped forward threateningly, as if hurrying him into the tube, Alex sneered at the man, "I'm going, cool your jets."

Alex stepped forward onto the pedestal as the voice called, "20 seconds."

He felt ill and wondered if they would delay the launch if he passed out in the tube. Doubtful.

"10 seconds."

The glass began to descend.

Alex was thrown into darkness for several seconds. He closes his eyes and only reopens them when bright light hits them. The heat and humidity is an oppressive change from the carefully monitored temperature of the air-conditioned launch room. It takes a second for his eyes to adjust. He sees the jungle surrounding them like a formidable wall, he sees his fellow tributes as the try to gain their bearings, and he sees the sunlight glint off the golden cornucopia.

"May the 69th annual Hunger Games begin!" announces Claudius Templesmith.

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The cornucopia sat in the center of a massive crater like indentation. A strategic move. Easier to run towards the cornucopia than away from it. The cornucopia itself surrounded by artificially green grass. A morbid thought raced across his mind as he took in as much of his surroundings as he could. The lush grass would look beautiful with a touch of red.

Alex turned to his right and noticed that some of the tributes were watching the clock, crouched in a sprinters pose. Others stood tall, bouncing from one foot to another nervously. He realized that he was the only one standing still, calmly on his plate. He looked forward at the clock, "20, 19, 18 ,17, 16."

Alex took a deep breath, eyes darting across the array of weapons that littered the cornucopia's mouth. There was a belt of knives directly in front of him, deep into the mouth of the cornucopia. He rolled his head and wrists, preparing them for the sudden movements that would follow.

"10, 9,8."

Alex dropped into a sprinters hold. He had been the fastest runner at Brookland Comprehensive in the last cross-country and track event that he'd run, which admittedly was more than a year ago. The constant physical activity involved in running and fighting for his life did keep him at a reasonably high level of fitness though.

"5,4,3,2."Alex took several deep breaths, filling his body with the energy it needed for the sudden burst of speed that would be necessary to reach the knives before the others reached their chosen weapon.

"1." His heart froze in his chest.

A cannon booms. Alex dives forward.

He can only feel the burn of his muscles for a few seconds before he remembers to breathe. He's halfway down the crater before most of the careers have taken their third step. He reached the knives well before the rest of the tributes reach their own.

Time froze.

The first blade that reaches his fingers is a small one. No longer than his palm, handle included. His head swivels to the left and then to the right. He took note of where everyone was. The girl from 1 had reached the mouth of the cornucopia and the bow.

The blade flew handle over blade. It drove home into the girl's chest between the third and fourth rib, directly into her heart as she brought the bow up to fire at him. The only threat. She gasps. With surprise or pain, Alex doesn't know. She stands frozen for what seems like an eternity. Her knees collapse from underneath her, and she pitches forward, blood streaming down her chest. Alex was right, the touch of red on the grass looked lovely.

He grasps the second blade in his fingertips. This one is longer, a finer and more tapered point. The tribute from 2 rushes him, sword held high as he fruitlessly tries to separate Alex's head from his shoulders. The young man flung the blade at the tribute as he ducked under the sword's vicious arc. It hits the inside of the tributes thigh. The carotid artery. Alex moves away from him. With a blade in his leg, slowly bleeding out, he is no longer the priority.

Alex puts distance between himself and the crippled tribute from 2, taking the belt of knives with him. The athletic teenager spots movement out of the corner of his eye and ducks. The spear that would have hit him center mass, grazes the side of his head as he falls into a crouch.

Alex did deign to response.

He withdrew a third blade from the belt, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he spun in a crouch. The knife spun handle over blade as it cut through the air. The Tribute from One predicted his attack, not the slightest bit perturbed by the abrupt dispatched of his fellow Careers. The blade sliced through One's shoulder like it was butter. And he Career didn't respond, either too high on adrenaline to feel pain, or too aware that a moment of distraction would mean death. The young man dived desperately for the spear that he'd just thrown, forgetting for a second the surrounding weapons as fear caused him to tunnel vision. Alex's hand found the hilt of another knife. In a single flowing movement, he pivoted as his arm came up and the blade released from the fingers. A single second before it hit the target. The Career collapsed on top of his spear as the blade slide neatly through the tender tissue of the boy's throat. A gaping hole was left where his windpipe should have been. Blood arced through the air, splattering Alex's cheek. Alex paid no mind to the rivulet of blood as a trailed down his cheek. He spun, searching for the girl from Two.

He dove ungracefully to his left, seconds before a crossbow bolt would have turned his eyes to watery mush. He put a crate of apples large enough to easily sit behind, between himself and the vicious Career as he caught his breath. He could hear her. Her light steps a blaring alarm for Alex's keen ears. She circled to the left. Alex spun in crouch to keep the crate between himself and her. He saw the profile of her back as he circled in behind her. She held the crossbow in front of her as if it would ward Alex off, but Alex didn't play fair. He drew a fifth blade and grasped the hilt solidly. He jumped up placing his hands on the top of the crate as he summersaulted over the top. His feet landed a solid blow to her chest, pushing her to the ground.

The blade slit her throat neatly, with only the slightest resistance as it cut through flesh and cartilage. She gasps and chokes as blood runs into her lungs. Her body shudders before she collapses as blood fails to reach her brain. Alex's arm and chest is covered in her greasy red lifeblood. He grimaces before turning to seek out his District partner.

She was nowhere to be seen.

He watched as the last of the other tributes disappear into the jungle. Alex smirks and straightens from his tense fighting crouch. He circles the four fallen Careers. The Tribute from Two is still alive, moaning in agony as his lower half is stained red. He sees Alex and bares his teeth is a feral snarl reminiscent of that of a wild beast's. Alex crouches down to retrieve that blade that had sliced through District One's shoulder. Two struggles to pull himself upwards, but fails. The blood loss causing his face to pale and his breath to come in panicked gasps. Alex doesn't allow himself to feel pity. The blade, already covered in blood, finds itself home in the chest Two. His chest contracts around the blade as he attempts to breath, before the trauma to his heart, the blood loss and the internal bleeding sooth the contractions until his chest moves no more.

Alex retrieves the blades from the dead Careers, his mind blank for once as he attempts to wipe his mind of the last minute. _Think positive Alex._

He had the cornucopia to himself. He quickly scouted the best weapons and equipment. A trident was strapped to his back with a leather belt, while the knife belt was strapped to his waist with what seemed like a diving knife sheath.

He grabbed a backpack and emptied it onto the green grass surrounding the cornucopia before he dug through the several others to compile some of the most vital equipment into one pack. Medical supplies, water bottles, a sheet of plastic, rope, a light grey sleeping bag, several small bread rolls and dried meat of unknown origin.

He sighed as he stood, as flinched slightly as he heard the sudden cannon fire. 1,2,3,4.

Quite possibly the smallest number to fall in the bloodbath. He enters the actual cornucopia and freezes as he hears a quiet fearful gasp. He turns his head to the left, watching as brown hair retreats behind a crate of swords.

Alex recognizes the shock of hair as belonging to the kid from Twelve.

He retreats from the cornucopia.

Slowly he gathered a backpack, placing within it a spare water bottle, some packaged food and a small knife as well as a sleeping bag. He re-entered the cornucopia.

He chucked the bag towards the crate of swords, "run kid," he says.

The kid didn't move so Alex stepped to the side so that he wasn't standing directly in the entrance, "come on kid. Run or I'll have to kill you," his voice is emotionless, impersonal. A statement, not a threat.

There was a strangled gasp, and a hand darted out grabbed the bag. He watched as the kid darted past him and across the lawn and up the hill, away from the cornucopia.

Alex laughed mirthlessly and shook his head.

He grabbed his own gear and decided to head towards the left side of the jungle where the vines were thicker. He had no intention of holding the cornucopia, as useful as it would be to starve out the other Tributes. The indentation that the cornucopia was centered in, was as much a death trap as it was an advantage. He wouldn't be able to see the enemy coming until they crested the crater, but they would be able to keep an eye on him easily enough as long as they stayed close to the ground. He knew that the people here weren't trained for basic conflict let alone guerilla warfare, but he also wasn't about to start underestimating the unknown. Had Alex been in a group of four or five, he might has chosen to hold the cornucopia, but the possibility of being surrounded was just too high.

Alex exited the crater carefully, pausing before cresting the edge to check that nobody was waiting to jump him when he least expected it. _Expect the unexpected._

Alex trekked through the jungle, eyes constantly on guard, sweeping the undergrowth for movement. He didn't trust the Gamemakers not to set a mutt on him. He had after all, just screwed up the traditional structure of the Games so much that it was practically unrecognizable. Usually the Career Pack would pick off the weaker Districts, but there were no Career Pack now and the possibility of an outer district winning had just increased exponentially. Not something that those within the Capitol would be happy with. Not to mention ruining the betting odds and probably causing a lot of people to lose a lot of money. So he refused to let his guard down. Not only for fellow tributes and not for the Gamemakers.

As the artificial light of Arena died off into twilight, he noticed footprints in the soft undergrowth, bent twigs and crushed grass that hadn't yet sprung up. He followed the trail carefully and was surprised when the tracks suddenly disappeared. He'd seen this before of course, and he was aware that there was the possibly he'd just walked into an ambush. But he knew who he'd been following, and he doubted that they'd have the balls to attack him. Not only that, but so far he was the only properly armed Tribute in the Arena.

He chose a tree nearby and climbed it. He settled down for the night, watching out the corner of his eye as his neighbor relaxed slightly. He was fairly sure that the kid wouldn't sleep well tonight when a possible threat was so close. He just shook his head and closed his eyes. He didn't open them when he heard the anthem. He didn't watch the faces of the people he'd killed flash up into the sky. He didn't eat that night, simple fell asleep listening to the quiet movement of jungle animals below.

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6 hours earlier

Finnick didn't recall ever feeling this anxious about the outcome of a Games since he'd been in that cursed Arena himself. Watching as Alex's pedestal rose from the ground, made his gut clench and bile build in the back of his throat.

He was meant to be relaxing the Victor's lounge for their traditional celebratory drink to the beginning of a new Game. It took all of his self-control not to stand up and walk out of the room. Surrounded by past Victor's- the animalistic creatures that they were- it wouldn't do to seem weak. They'd sense it like blood in the water.

Most of the other victors were silent as they sipped their chosen beverages. The tradition had begun as a twisted form of vigil. But most Victors had difficulty empathizing with each other, let alone with a bunch of kids, most of whom would soon be dead. They tried, Finnick would give them that, but if you didn't go into the Arena an A grade sociopath, then you certainly came out one. Cashmere and Gloss were talking to Enobaria who flashed Finnick a toothy grin as she laughed at something the siblings had said. The work of gathering sponsors wouldn't start until they knew who survived the bloodbath, so they could afford to relax until the bloodbath was over.

This set up usually made it easier on Mentors like Haymitch, who rarely had to worry about sponsors past the first day. Which was to say, he didn't worry about sponsors.

Finnick wasn't so lucky. With District Four being a Career District, it was common for his Tributes to last up until at least the final eight. Which meant an interview, publicity and sponsors.

Claudius Templesmith's announcement rang in Finnick's ears. The countdown began.

He leant forward as the glowing blue numbers reached the single digits. He almost moaned in dismay as he saw that Alex had gone into a sprinting crouch. Please don't Alex, he wished silently.

What was that boy thinking? There was no way that he would survive against the Careers.

The boy sprinted forward faster than anyone Finnick had ever seen. His feet were a blur, and then as if he'd hit a brick wall, he stopped. Alex bent down reaching for something… knives, Finnick saw. He watched in amazement as Alex gracefully flung a knife at the girl from 1. He heard Gloss hiss in annoyance from her place on the lounge next to her brother Cashmere as the girl toppled over backwards. Alex was moving again, with the grace of a dancer, releasing a blade at the boy from 2 as he ducked the Tribute's sword. At first it seemed that it had missed completely, but the camera zoomed in on the blade digging into the boy's carotid artery.

Haymitch whistled drunkenly, "Looks like we got a future victor, Finny. I thought he wasn't a Career. Straight for the kill, no hesitation," he shook his head in disbelief, being the only one inebriated enough to say what everyone else was thinking.

Finnick shook his head and said absently, "he's not a Career. I didn't even know that he could throw knives."

Cecelia laughed cruelly, "Looks like we definitely got a winner then, if he tricked you Finnick," she sighed, "Such a shame, I thought mine had a chance this year."

Brutus nodded in agreement even as he frowned as he watched his tribute sink to the ground. Enobaria shrugged, "we'll see."

Finnick watching in amazement as Alex swung around and ducked a spear before throwing in return two blades, one which sunk into the boy's throat.

The boy dove to the side, behind a crate full of fruit, for the first time not seeming as if he was in total control of the situation. The crossbow bolt separate the air, where he'd been only a second before. What happened next was so quick Finnick wasn't quite sure the order in which it happened. It resulted in the girl lying, bleeding out of the grass, and Alex covered in blood.

Only once she had fallen, did Finnick realized that most of the other tributes hadn't even gone into the cornucopia, grabbing only the outer weapons or backpacks. None tried to attack Alex, which he found unusual, but seeing the predatory movements of the boy, he couldn't blame them for running in the opposite direction. He knew that that was what he would've done if he were faced with a threat like Alex.

A loud snort came from behind them, "They flee like frightened rabbits from the hunter," Seeder observed quietly.

Finnick turned to Mags and raised an eyebrow, "something that you want to tell me?"

Mags smiled serenely at Finnick, "I knew the boy was a weapon the moment I laid eyes on him. He acts more like a Victor than most Victors. It wouldn't surprise me if he has killed before," she indicated to the screen, "he definitely seems calm enough about what just happened."

Finnick watched as Alex emotionlessly yanked the throwing knives from the dead tributes.

"I'll be interested to what how this plays out. I wish I'd bet on your boy Finnick, I'd be well on my way to making a pretty penny," Brutus added his two cents, with a grudging sense of respect, seeming as it typically, unperturbed by the death of his two tributes.

Finnick frowned, "what else is he hiding from me?"

Mags rubbed his shoulder gently, consoling him, "he confided in me that he wanted to tell you, but he was scared."

Finnick snorted, "Alex? Scared? Never."

Mags nodded, "no matter what you say, Finnick, you're the closest thing he has to a father figure. Obviously whatever he is hiding, he thinks that it will affect how you see him."

"Too late now, anyway," Finnick muttered.

"Perhaps when he comes back you can talk to him," Mags suggested.

"You seem pretty sure that he'll come back," Finnick said.

Mags smiled enigmatically at him, "I'd bet with you if it weren't against the law for Mentors to bet on their own tributes."

Finnick frowned but nodded, "perhaps," and for the first time since Alex's name was drawn, he felt a spark of hope.

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"Well Ladies and Gentlemen, I don't think any of us expected that," Caesar Flickerman stated with a low whistle as he addressed the audience.

His fellow commentator Claudius Templesmith nodded, "this has to have been the smallest bloodbath in the history of the Games. Not to mention that every career bar Brooke Marina from district 4 and the wickedly dangerous Alex Odair died before the first minute of the Games."

"And all taken down by the same person," Caesar gushed, "I've never seen anything like it. Just look at this summersault, true panache."

A replay of Alex's gymnastic move was projected on the screen beside Caesar who shook his head in disbelief.

"Can you believe this guy? Fighting for his life and he still puts on a good show. A testimony perhaps, to the higher level of training provided by District 4?"

"It seems that we have a real contender for the games this year, and with only one Career to oppose him, I wonder if anyone can stop him."

"Just look at this footage," Caesar said, "Brooke Marina waits on the pedestal until she's sure of where Alex's Odair is going. Then she grabs a backpack and bolts. She lingers at the edge of the clearing and observes Alex's conversation with the male from 12. Very odd behavior for a Career."

"It seems that Alex has only bothered to feign weak in front of the cameras. Just look at the other Tributes run. It seems that they knew what was going to happen. It's the first time no other parties have challenged the Careers for the cornucopia."

"We'll just have to wait and see but it seems that these Games are spicing up to be perhaps the most intriguing since Finnick's own. Did Finnick train the boy himself I wonder?"

"I don't know Claudius; while Alex did chose to take the trident from the Arena, Finnick never demonstrated any skill at knife throwing. I don't think this fits Finnick's fighting style."

"Maybe we can get Finnick up here to talk about what is happening down there in the arena. Wouldn't we all like to know?"

The crowd screamed out Finnick's name, pounding their feet on the ground. _/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/


End file.
